


ring my bell

by somehowunbroken



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: D/s elements, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Relationship Negotiation, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 22:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16669558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: John Tavares is a Maple Leaf.Now he just needs to figure out what that means.





	ring my bell

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY! this has been in the works for, like, three months, and i've been thinking about it since JT put pen to paper and we found out that mitch marner was part of the sales process. WHAT WAS ON THE TAPE, y'all. probably... not this... but hey, this is what you get when i answer that question.
> 
> shoutout to the person on my twitter timeline who asked literal months ago who was going to write the 20k "what was on the tape" porn epic that we all deserved. i overshot by almost 10k. sorry not sorry?
> 
> thanks to everyone who either read bits of this along the way or waved pom poms as i rambled about it. your prize is 29k of porn and feelings, which are sometimes related but sometimes not.
> 
> incredible thanks to lor, who had the fantastic title idea. it's from "[ring my bell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=URAqnM1PP5E)" by anita ward. yes, that one. the one about orgasms. that is a giant clue as to what this story contains.

It would be easy for John to say that he's uncomfortable in the meetings, but they're perfectly dry and boring. Stammer had told him to expect crazy pitch after crazy pitch, but it's pretty much just hockey guys throwing hockey talk at him. The only presentation that really stands out is the Leafs; Dubas and Babcock paint a pretty sweet picture of where he'd fit in, who he'd get to play with, and then they dim the lights and start a video, and he watches as Mitch Marner darts around the ice like he's got literal wings on his skates or something poetic like that. He's fast, he's agile as hell, and he transitions from drill to drill without missing a single beat as whoever's running the practice barks out commands. It's really impressive, and when the lights come back on, John almost asks if they can dim them again, replay the video from the start.

He doesn't, because he's a goddamn professional, but the video was... yeah. Fine. So Marner's good at hockey, and John likes watching good hockey. Sue him.

It's not the only memorable thing he sees in the days that follow, but it does stick with him. There's something about the way Marner moves, fluid and graceful, and there was _definitely_ something about the way Babcock had picked up on that, how he'd leaned in and very earnestly told John that he'd probably be put on a line with Marner, would be able to have him flying up on his wing, and he'd given John a little smile when he'd said that Marner was good at taking direction, at picking up on and doing what people didn't even know they wanted him to do.

"Like magic, or just like really, really good training," Babcock had said, and John doesn't know if it's the replay of Babcock delivering his line and sitting back, or the way Dubas had coughed a little and looked away with a weird expression on his face, or something else entirely, but he finds himself thinking about it a few nights later, fiddling with the business card that Dubas had given him at the end of the meeting.

"In case you have questions," he'd said. "Or if you want to go over anything we said in the presentation one more time."

It's probably ridiculous, but John takes a deep breath and dials the number on the card. It rings a few times, and then John hears a soft burst of static. "Hello, this is Kyle."

"Hey Kyle," John says. "This is John. Uh, Tavares."

"John, hey," Dubas says, tone easing into the light, friendly sales pitch tone that he'd used throughout the meeting. "How's it going?"

"Good, y'know," John says, rubbing his hand on his pants. His palms are sweating, he realises. "Lots to think about."

"Right, absolutely," Dubas says. "So what can I do for you?"

John hesitates, but only for a moment. "Actually, I was hoping I could ask you to send me something," he says. "That video you had in the meeting? The one with Marner?"

"Oh, yeah," Dubas says."We can send it to you, no problem. We've actually got some more video with him, if you're interested in seeing that. Totally different stuff. It's more... team-focused, shall we say."

There's something a little strange about the way Dubas says it, but John doesn't want to ask for clarification. Honestly, he'll take whatever he can get if it's more of Marner's slick skills. "Sounds good, yeah," he says. "Do you want me to come pick it up tomorrow?"

"Nah, I'll email it to you," Dubas replies easily. "It's all password-protected. Gotta keep a lid on the secrets, you know?" He laughs a little. "I'll email you the files and text you the password. Enjoy, okay?"

"Thanks," John says, and then they hang up. He frowns a little; maybe Dubas is just kind of a weird guy or whatever. His way of phrasing things seems off in ways that John doesn't know how to put his finger on.

The files show up a few minutes later; John's a little surprised to find that they're actually from Dubas. He figured it would be an intern or someone in the office, but it's from kyle.dubas@mlse.org, so there's really nobody else it would be. The message is succinct— _Let me know if there's anything else I can do, and please enjoy_ —and then there are two video files attached.

Only one of them is password-protected, John notices. He's still waiting on the password, so he opens the first one; it's the one he saw in the meeting, Marner doing drills seemingly without effort. It's not that he doesn't break a sweat, because he clearly does; he's truly putting the work in, but the product he gets out of it is really stunning to see. His edgework is incredible for his age and his size, and John can only imagine what a couple more years in the league will do for him. It's not like John is going to make his decision based entirely on maybe playing with one certain teammate, but the idea of playing with Marner is for sure a point in Toronto's favour.

His phone dings softly with a new text while he's watching the video a second time; John lets it sit there, busy half-watching Marner race around the corner chasing a puck and half-imagining being there to run drills with him. He's got an infectious kind of smile, John has noticed, and it's something he files away in a place that's a little more private than the talking points he'll bring up with his agent. Anyone who can smile like they're actually having a good time while they're racing around the ice like that is for sure someone John wants to get to know a little more. Everyone who plays the game for a living loves hockey, but some people go above and beyond that, and John has a feeling that Marner is really ahead of the curve in that regard as well.

The text turns out to be from Dubas, a string of twenty-two numbers, letters, and characters that John assumes is the password for the video. It takes him three tries to get it right, and he'd almost consider giving up, but he's beyond curious. If they just sent the regular file with no password protection on it, then what could possibly require this much of a wall between it and the public?

It opens on a shot of Auston Matthews, which isn't entirely unexpected, but he's wearing regular clothes, not hockey gear or even anything Leafs-branded. Someone mutters something off camera, and Matthews shrugs and rolls his eyes. The person off-camera laughs a little, and Matthews turns back to the camera. "Uh, hi," he says. His voice is always softer than John expects it to be, and he knows that's saying a lot, because he gets that thrown at himself pretty often. "So Kyle called and said we were making a couple of videos for you. If you're seeing this, then Kyle thought it was a good idea to show it to you. It's not... it's not like the other one."

"Really not," the person off-camera adds. John knows he's heard the voice before, assumes it's another Leaf, but he can't quite place it. "Like, super, _super_ not."

"I'm getting to that, Mo, come on," Matthews says, and it clicks: Morgan Rielly must be the cameraperson.

"Get there faster," Rielly advises, and John has to bite back a smile. They're clearly friends; close ones, if John's reading the situation anything like right. "Don't make the man wait."

"I'll make _you_ wait," Matthews mutters, and Rielly laughs, bright and clear. It makes Matthews smile briefly; John's not in the habit of reading things into facial expressions, but there's a flicker of—something more than he'd originally thought, he decides. He doesn't need to put a label on it.

"Anyway," Matthews says after a moment. "Kyle gave you a video of Mitchy skating, which is... let's go with amazing." He grins. "But he's really great at a lot of things, and some of them are..."

The video wobbles a little, and then half of Rielly's face appears. "He's good on and off the ice," he says. "In most situations, honestly. And he's a great teammate, a great guy. Babs is probably going to put you guys together, so we wanted to give you an idea of how good he is at... uh."

"Following the leader," Matthews picks back up. The camera swings back to him. "And this is kind of a weird way to lead up to it, I guess, but that's what they get for asking the two of us to do this."

"Who else were they going to ask?" Rielly asks. "But, I mean, you're not wrong."

"Of course I'm not," Matthews says, and John is incredibly curious about what the hell they're trying to get to here, but not enough to skip ahead. This is a really interesting look at his possible future teammates, after all. "Whatever. The point is, man, we're here to kind of remind you that you signed an NDA about everything in the marketing materials, and it extends to this too. And we all talked about it, too, making sure we agreed you'd... well. I'm pretty sure you're gonna like what you see, but even if you don't, we're pretty sure you're not gonna be a dick about it." He shifts a little, face going completely serious. "And if you're a dick about it... well. Don't be."

There's something ominous in his voice. John can't put a name to it, but he believes his gut feeling on this one.

"So yeah, on that note, enjoy," Rielly says, and then the video cuts.

The video is long, John realises when he looks at the play bar, and the bit with Matthews and Rielly had only been a few minutes. There's a lot of... whatever's coming, and John thinks about fast-forwarding past however long the break is. It's a little weird, he thinks, shifting on his sofa, because the production on the first video had been clean, but this is—

There's a breathy sound from his laptop, and John zeroes in on it.

The picture comes in kind of gradually, like someone in the background is moving the lights around for the best angles or something, except there's not a lot of light on the whole. Still, it's enough for John to recognise what he's seeing, what he's hearing, even if there's absolutely no way he actually _believes_ what his senses are telling him.

"You're doing great," Matthews says, and he's flushed from his cheeks down his chest, red blotchy patches all over his skin; John can tell exactly how far down it goes, because Matthews isn't wearing a single stitch of clothing. He's sweating a little, hair a mess, and he's got a hand tangled in the hair of the guy kneeling between his legs.

It's Marner. John knows it instantly. There's no mistaking the slope of his shoulders, the sweep of his hair; even without the introduction, John would have no problem at all figuring out who it was. He can feel his mouth drop open a little at the sight, and he's not sure if he was going to say something or not, but whoever's holding the camera moves, and then John has an absolutely excellent view of Marner's face as Matthews slowly presses down on the back of his head and Marner goes with it, sinking his mouth down inch by inch on Matthews' dick.

"You're doing good," Matthews says. This is clearly the middle of... whatever's going on, because Matthews is trying to keep his voice calm, but there's no mistaking the strain in it. "So good, Mitchy, fuck."

Marner makes a noise that probably wasn't meant to be anything more than acknowledgment; it's a good thing, too, because Matthews keeps his hand where it is. Marner don't move, doesn't try to pull back or push down, and the camera zooms in on him a little. He's breathing heavily through his nose, but his eyes are clear and calm.

"Holy," John mutters as the camera pulls back again.

"Gonna go for it," Mathews says, voice a little hoarse, and Marner makes that same noise again. "You know the signal if you need me to stop."

It's not a question, but Marner's hand comes up to rest against Matthews' chest, right between his pecs. He leaves it there, not pushing at all, and Matthews nods.

"Okay, put your hand down," he instructs, and as soon as Marner's hand is back off the screen, Matthews lets go of his head. He quickly moves so he's holding Marner's face, then pulls back ever so slowly. John can feel his own breath going a little short as he watches, but finally, finally, Marner's lips are brushing the head of Matthews' dick. He glances up, quirking an eyebrow, and Matthews makes a sound that's something like a groan and pushes back in fast, no finesse or care to it. Marner's eyes shut quickly, and it's a stupid thought to have, but all John can think is that he looks somehow serene as Matthews absolutely goes to town on him. It's accurate, though, because it's clear that he relaxes into it, like letting Matthews just do whatever he wants is exactly what he's into.

It doesn't last long, not that John's super shocked by that; he's glad that the camera stays on Marner, because that way he doesn't have to know what Matthews' face does when he comes, but it also gives him the chance to see Marner breathe out slowly as Matthews finally pulls out. He wipes at his face, then pats Matthews' thigh. "Nice," he says approvingly. His voice is incredibly fucked-out; John would know, because he just watched the skating video again, and there's enough of Marner's voice in it for him to be familiar with it already. "I mean, it was no four-point performance—"

"Oh my god, suck my dick again, shut _up,_ " Matthews says, clearly still trying to catch his breath.

Marner snickers and leans in, and the camera's not quick enough to see it, but John can hear Matthews whine. "No, not literally, dude!"

"Don't tempt me," Marner says, sitting back. "Anyone else tonight?"

"Nah," Matthews says. "I told Gards to stick around so you could give him a thumbs up for his point, but he wanted to get home early. I think his ribs are hurting."

"Aw," Marner says. "I'll ask him next game, maybe. D'you think I could—"

The camera swings a little wildly, and the recording cuts off.

"What," John says out loud, feeling stunned. "What the—"

A new video clip starts. Marner's on a bed, laying on his side facing the camera, one leg drawn up to his chest. He's naked again, and someone who is clearly not Matthews is behind him, one arm draped over his side with a hand resting against his stomach as he fucks into Marner, short and sharp and hard. It takes John a few hazy seconds to make out Connor Brown behind him, moving completely without finesse as Marner hitches his leg up higher.

"Fuck, fuck," Brown says, leaning his forehead against Marner's shoulder.

"Yeah, c'mon," Marner says, closing his eyes and reaching for his own dick. "Go for it, Brownie. You were so great out there."

"Shit," Brown gasps, loud enough to be heard even though he doesn't lift his head from Marner's shoulder. "Marns, I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, you are," Marner says, and it's half-smug, half-strained as Brown loses any semblance of rhythm and just goes for it. It's not long before Brown goes still and limp, and Marner gives him a moment before reaching back to pat his hip. "You good back there, man?"

Brown laughs a little. "Yeah, I know, there are people in line still," he says, and John sucks in a sharp breath as Brown pulls out and rolls out of frame. It's not long before he's replaced by Zach Hyman, who slides right into Brown's place and doesn't waste any time pushing in. Marner groans and tilts his head back, and Hyman stills his hips and leans in to kiss Marner incredibly thoroughly before pulling back and saying something too quietly for the camera to catch. Marner laughs a little, though, and whatever he says back makes Hyman groan as he starts working his hips again.

The whole video is like that: clip after clip of Marner with his teammates, sometimes on his back, sometimes on his knees, sometimes with more than one person in the frame with him. There's never a part that's long enough on its own for John to feel like it's an actual porn clip; he's pretty sure most of it is shot on cell phones, shaky hand-cam and all, though there are for sure a few that seem like they're of a higher quality. It's a weird thing to focus on and John knows it, but it's either that or stick his hand in his pants to a video of a guy he barely knows getting worked over by a bunch of other guys he barely knows, but without the detachment that actual porn would provide.

There's about seven minutes of video left when the scene switches again, and this time it's to a blurry, unfocused view of someone's chest. It's not Marner; he doesn't know what to think about the fact that he can already tell that, but he knows he's right even before whoever's in front of the camera moves away and the camera focuses on Marner sprawled on his stomach across a bed, resting his head on his crossed arms.

"So," the guy off-screen says, and John inhales sharply as Naz walks into view, shirtless but wearing a pair of Leafs sweats. He looks directly at the camera, which is new; the rest of the videos had ignored the fact that a camera was in the room, but between the way the camera is set, the lighting, and the fact that the only person on the team who he actually knows is now smirking into the camera, John can tell that this is going to be different from the rest of the clips. "You've seen a bunch of stuff by now. I have no idea what they're picking to go in the video, but this is for sure gonna be the last thing on it."

"I told them to get Mo and Matty to record something for an intro," Marner says, grinning at Naz.

Naz snorts. "Okay, then, I guess he'll only see this if he makes it past whatever bullshit those two put on video," he says. "But John? If you're still watching? The hockey here is incredible, man, but there are perks you could never have guessed about, too."

"I'm a perk now?" Marner asks, clearly amused.

"I mean, you're a brat," Naz says, and it's the same tone of voice he'd used to use on John right before kissing him breathless, both of them dizzy with draft year nerves and the unquiet glee that comes with winning. "But yeah, I guess you count as a perk."

"I can be perky," Marner says, waggling his eyebrows.

Naz rolls his eyes. "I can't tell if that's you threatening to sing more on the bench or telling me you're about to jerk off," he says.

Marner laughs. "How much does it matter?" he asks, rolling over onto his back. "What if I sing here while you watch me jerk off?"

John watches carefully as Naz draws in a steady breath and sits on the side of the bed. "That's not what we talked about."

"It sure isn't," Marner agrees. He turns and looks directly into the camera. "Naz likes to watch more than anything else. We were gonna do a thing with me following his directions." He grins, and there's something teasing about it. "I promise I'm good at that, but sometimes I don't feel like it."

"He's a brat," Naz says again. "But he puts on a good show."

"I do," Marner agrees. His hand starts travelling down his body, nails tweaking a nipple, rubbing almost casually against his hip. "And teammates always get a front-row seat."

"Sometimes there's audience participation," Naz says as Marner gets a hand around himself.. He strokes himself a few times, then turns to look at Naz, who rolls his eyes and leans over, grabbing the lube that John didn't notice until this moment and dropping it next to Marner. "And it's usually more interesting than being a lube assistant."

"Sometimes being a lube assistant is more... hands-on," Marner adds, squeezing some lube onto his fingers. He doesn't bother warming it up before stroking himself again. He closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing as he strokes himself until he's actually hard. When he opens his eyes again, he turns to Naz. "How should I do it?"

"Oh, _now_ he wants directions," Naz says, voice far softer than his words. "Fast. Just get yourself there, Mitchy."

Marner lets out an almost wounded noise and grips himself tightly. "You're sure?"

"Show John how fast you can go off," Naz says softly. "I promise he's gonna like it, okay? Go for it."

"Okay," Marner says. He doesn't look away from Naz as he plants a foot on the bed and starts pushing up into his hand, going at a pace that John would find brutal on himself but can only find enthralling here and now. Marner whines and shudders a little, and it's like a dam breaking or something equally poetic; the noises fall from his mouth without stopping, one after the other, gasps and inhalations and needy sounds, half-pronounced things that might have been words at some point but sure aren't now. They've lost all semblance of consonants, but somehow the meaning is perfectly preserved, and it's all John can do to remember to breathe as Marner tosses his head back and shoots all over his own stomach.

"Holy shit," John says. His voice sounds loud, but he doesn't have the focus to give a fuck. He wasn't timing it or anything, but that had to be less than two minutes.

"Good job," Naz says soothingly as Marner lets his leg drop. He reaches out and runs a hand through Marner's hair. "You did great, Mitchy."

"Yeah?" Marner asks, half-drowsy and half something else entirely, and John's face heats in recognition. He and Naz had fooled around enough in juniors for Naz to know exactly what John likes, and the sweet, praise-seeking note in Marner's voice is at the absolute top of that list.

Naz definitely remembers, if the smirk he's giving the camera is any indication. "Yeah," he says, still running his fingers gently through Marner's hair. "That was perfect. He's gonna love it, I promise."

Marner smiles, wide and happy, and then turns to the camera. He's already coming back down to earth, John can tell, but there's still something light in his eyes. "Good," he says. "We can do it again in a little while, if you think we should redo it."

"Nah, I think we're good with what we have here," Naz says. He hasn't stopped smirking at the camera. "Johnny, if you have any questions... call me."

The video cuts out, and John sits there in the quiet, listening to how hard he's breathing. He only lasts a moment before shoving his laptop to the side and closing his eyes as he slips his hand into his pants.

-0-

John gets roughly a thousand calls and texts from people he barely knows when the decision goes public; most of them are congratulatory, and John can pretty much ignore the rest. Barz and Beau seem happy for him, so at least he hasn't pissed off _all_ the Islanders; he understands being bitter, he truly does, and he hopes that he can repair his relationships with the guys who are upset with his choice, but he also knows that he has to live his life. The Leafs were the best choice for him, from a hockey standpoint and a personal standpoint, and he's doing his best to have no regrets.

There's... the other thing, too, John knows. The Marner thing, the one that he hasn't been able to get off his mind since Dubas sent him the video. He's watched it so many times by this point that he knows every little gasp of breath, every smart-ass comment, every minute twitch of Marner's expression in each and every scene. It's only been a week, and John definitely has better things to be doing, but he also knows himself well enough to know he's not going to stop watching it.

Or, at least, he knows that until his phone beeps late in the afternoon. It's not like John isn't expecting people to text him right now, but he can't help the way he stares a little when he sees who it's from. He hasn't spoken to Naz in a non-hockey context in years, probably, but he still has a pretty good idea what the message is going to be about.

_Dude, I told u to call me. Guess you didn't have qs???_

_I know Kyle sent u the video._

John breathes out slowly. He's not sure he wants to have this conversation, but he's very sure that he has to, anyway. Talking to Naz about it is going to be way easier than talking to Matthews or Dubas or, god forbid, Babcock about it, so he thumbs the contact open and hits dial.

"I didn't mean now," Naz says when he answers, and John grins a little. "I meant last week. Questions usually come before you sign a multi-year contract, dude."

"Maybe I didn't have those kinds of questions," John says, relaxing a little. "Maybe all _those_ questions were already answered for me."

Naz laughs. "I mean, I did my best to make it as clear as I could for you."

"I got the message," John says. "So he's..."

"A question!" Naz says brightly. "I knew there had to be one in there somewhere."

"I will call Matthews," John threatens, but Naz snorts.

"Don't," he advises. "He spends his summers fucking around with anyone who gives him the time of day. He'll answer in the middle of it, and you will have to hear it."

"You say that as if I haven't heard it already," John points out. "He's in that video a few times."

"You're welcome to repeat the experience," Naz says. "But he doesn't stop the porn talk just because you're on the phone. I guess he thinks that he's inconveniencing everyone that way, so at least it's more fair or some shit."

John rolls his eyes a little, but he's smiling, too. "Interesting," he says. "And yet, not the new teammate I figured we'd be talking about tonight."

"Aw, _someone_ wants to know more about Mitchy," Naz says, voice sugary sweet.

"Someone really wants to tell me about _Mitchy,_ " John shoots back. "Unless that video was the only kind of explanation I'm supposed to get for... whatever it is that he's doing."

"Fine, fun-ruiner," Naz says. "Mitchy's... kind of a one-of-a-kind guy."

John snorts. "You don't say."

"It's all his idea, all his doing, all his choices," Naz says. "The way he explains it is that he likes making other people feel good about things they've done, so he'll reach out if he thinks it would be appreciated. I told him that you'd be the kind of guy to appreciate his brand of teamwork, and he suggested letting you know about it as part of the whole wooing you process."

"The part with you was different," John says, because it's one thing to hear that a guy likes sleeping with teammates, but that's not what Naz had shown him.

Naz laughs. "Yeah, it was," he says. "He likes giving people what they want, but he likes your kind of thing a whole lot more than that. I talked to him about it a lot when he first approached me, and he told me that it's not something he usually does when he fucks around with teammates, because a lot of guys don't know what the hell they're doing." He flashes a smile. "With the other guys, he goes to them to give them what they need. If it's me, it's something he needs, and that's how I'd want it anyway."

John breathes, in and out through his nose. "So he sleeps with everyone, but he only plays with you."

"Not everyone," Naz clarifies. "Some of the guys don't want it. The older ones, more or less, guys with families and kids and stuff." His tone darkens. "Or, you know. Sometimes guys are... not into it."

"That can be handled," John says calmly before he even thinks about it. He has to stop and blink; it's been handled by now, probably, and even if it hasn't, it's not his business until and unless someone makes it his business.

Naz just laughs again, though. "It sure can," he agrees. "Let's just say there are reasons some people will never, ever make this team, and we can leave it at that."

"Will do," John says. "So you're giving me the pep talk now, which is pretty far before the season begins. Should I reach out and let him know that I've heard the whole deal, or wait until training camp, or..."

"I'll let him know that we talked," Naz answers. "He probably already has your number, and I can give you his, but leave it in his hands. That's how this whole thing works."

"Got it," John says. "So, any other fun teammate bombshells you want to drop on me?"

They spend a little while catching up; it's funny how easy it is to slip back into the easy kind of friendship that he and Naz haven't had since they were kids together, but then again, that's hockey for you. Teammates come and teammates go, John figures, and sometimes they come around again. Learning how to ride the merry-go-round is all part of the job. There are no other bombshells, which is probably a good thing, and by the time they hang up, they have a coffee date set up for the end of the week, somewhere that Naz promises will be low-key enough for John not to get mobbed in public.

It's not that John hadn't already thought that he made the right decision, he thinks as he and Naz hang up. It's that he hadn't expected it to feel this much like coming home this quickly.

-0-

John answers his phone without checking who it is first, which is a rookie mistake, honestly. "Hello," he says gruffly, hoping that he hadn't just picked up some random telemarketer.

"Hey," the voice on the other end says. "I'm looking for JT. Naz gave me this number."

John wonders for a moment if he should play clueless here, but he hadn't needed more than three words to get a pretty good idea of who's calling. "This is JT," he says. "Which new teammate is this?"

The guy laughs warmly, and John knows he's right before it's confirmed for him. "This is Mitch Marner."

"Hey, Marns," John says easily. "Nice to meet you. Or pre-meet, I guess."

Marner laughs again. "You too," he says. "I heard through the grapevine that you got both tapes. Naz told me there wouldn't be anything weird, but I wanted to check with you before summer plans got in the way to make sure he was right." His voice gets a little more serious. "I know it's... kind of a lot, and not everyone's totally on board. If there's anything you were uncomfortable with, I'd like the chance to talk to you about it before it has a chance to get even weirder."

"Oh," John says, blinking a little. "That's... huh. I wasn't expecting that."

"I get that a lot," Marner says, teasing gently. "And if Naz read everything totally wrong and you're not into—"

"Definitely not that," John cuts in, then coughs a little. "Uh. Naz knows me pretty well, all things considered."

"Does he now," Marner says, and now the confidence is back in his tone. "That's good to know."

"And I wasn't uncomfortable with any of it," John adds, because Marner had specifically reached out to him about it, so John figures he's safe enough in admitting it. Besides, he's got quite a bit of video proof that he's far from the only one who enjoys Marner's particular skill set.

"Good, great," Marner says. "You might have already guessed this, but I'm not exactly shy. Want to grab a drink, talk a little in person? I'm free tonight, or we can pick a time early next week."

John blinks again. "I can do tonight," he says. He's not doing his intense summer workouts yet, so he can absolutely take a little time to talk with a new teammate. The fact that it's Marner is maybe a little more incentive, if John's being honest with himself, but he'd do it for any of the guys, probably. Old captain habits die hard.

"Great," Marner says again. He rattles off a name and address, a bar that John has vaguely heard of but never been to. "Does eight work? I can do later, but not earlier."

"Eight's fine," John says. "Anyone else coming, or just us?"

"Just us," Marner confirms. "Unless you want Naz there. I'm sure we can convince him to show up."

"Nah, I don't need a chaperone," John says, smiling a little.

Marner laughs. "Good call," he says. "See you later."

They hang up and John shakes his head a little, wondering what exactly tonight is going to bring. There's no use dwelling on it, he decides a moment later; he's got things to do, people to call, an afternoon cardio session to sweat his way through. He passes the time getting things done, and if he sits in his apartment doing nothing for half an hour just so he doesn't show up to the bar pathetically early, well, that's between him and TSN. Finally, though, it's late enough for him to head out, so he grabs his keys and wallet and heads for the door.

The bar is loud without being overwhelming; it's for sure not John's scene, but it's the kind of thing he's used to with hockey players. It's actually better than some of the places he'd been dragged to in New York, which is nice, if he thinks about it. If Marner is okay with getting a booth near the back, they'll be able to hear each other talk, and they probably won't be overheard.

"Hey," Marner says, appearing out of the crowd around the dance floor before John really has the chance to look for him. He holds out a hand. "Nice to meet you in person and not across a puck."

"You, too," John says, shaking hands. "I'm glad I'm not gonna have to chase you around any more. Holy shit, man, you're fast."

Marner laughs easily. "That's my job," he says. "There are tables in the back. Grab a drink and find me."

Before John can say anything, Marner disappears again, and John doesn't waste time looking for him. It'll be quicker if he just does as he's been told, even if that's not how he generally does things. He can play nice.

Marner is indeed at a table in the back, and John had been right: it's loud enough to cover the details of whatever conversation they're going to have, but not so loud that they're going to have to yell. It's smart, John realises as he sits. Not that he didn't think Marner was a smart guy, but it's an interesting thing to have confirmed in this particular way.

"So," Marner says. He's drinking something clear, and John can't tell if it's liquor or water. He takes a sip, but it's small; another smart move, John notes. Either he's not drinking quickly, or he's making anyone watching him think it's alcohol when it isn't. Both of those things let him remain more in control of the situation than he might otherwise.

"So," John repeats. "I'm guessing this isn't a chat about my chemistry with the team."

Marner smirks. "I mean, you're leaving me wide open for the chemistry joke there."

"Not the only thing you're _wide open_ for, from what I've seen," John shoots back.

"Play your cards right and you can find out," Marner says smoothly. It's not that John was hoping to fluster him, but Marner is very much still on his game. "I don't have anything going tonight. My usual plans have plans."

"Your usual plans," John repeats. "What, you have a... partner?"

Marner snorts inelegantly. "Jesus, no. I have someone who likes sex just as much as I do, and if possible, he's even more allergic to having feelings to go along with it than I am." He waits a beat. "Or, actually, all of his feelings are attached to someone he's not having sex with. He's off having all sorts of platonic adventures tonight, so I'm free."

John focuses hard on not running down a list of people who might fit those criteria. He doesn't need to know who Marner hangs out with outside of the season, he reasons as he takes a sip of his beer. He can let it go; it's absolutely none of his business one way or another. "Lucky for me," he finally says.

"Lucky for you," Marner agrees. "I mean, also potentially lucky for me, depending on which parts of that whole thing you were the most interested in."

"Naz knows me pretty well," John says again. "He wasn't wrong."

"Oh, good," Marner says. "I was really, really hoping that was the case. Are you in his camp with the watching versus touching thing, too?"

"If you need me to be," John says, shrugging. "It's not usually what I'm looking for, but I don't have a problem with it."

Marner laughs. "You got the whole tape," he says. "You've seen how hands-on it gets. I haven't really come up against much I'm not super on board with. I spend more time making sure whoever I'm with is comfortable with what they're doing than I do anything else."

John frowns. "That doesn't seem fair."

"That doesn't seem to be a thing you need to worry about, either," Marner says, and his tone is light, but his expression is suddenly serious. "I get most of what I want out of giving other people what they want, and I have never had a problem saying no if I need to. It's all good, JT."

John clears his throat. "I'm gonna want to talk about that," he says. "Not whatever you have going on with everyone else; that's for you to handle. But I'm not in it solely for what _I_ want to get out of it." It's not that he's bad at casual; it's that he knows that even casually, he can be kind of intense, and if he's going to do anything other than the light, fun kind of things with Marner, he's going to want actual lines and boundaries and conversations about it.

Marner studies him. "Okay," he says. "That's... yeah, that's good. We can talk about it."

"Good," John says. "And, uh. If it's not weird, can you use my name?"

Marner's eyes crinkle a little at that. "Not into the hockey nicknames in bed thing?"

"I have very specific memories attached to using hockey nicknames in bed," John clarifies. "Not bad ones, but not ones I really want to bring back into bed with me." He's well past the specific kind of heartache that comes from leaving your juniors friends and... people who were more than friends, but it doesn't mean he wants to hear PK laughing in his ear or Stammer gently poking fun at him every time Marner says his name.

"Got it," Marner says. He waits a beat, then adds, "John."

"Mitch," John says, testing it out. "Mitchy? That's what Naz used."

"Either's fine," Marner—Mitch—says. "Not Mitchell."

John nods. "Mitch," he says again. "Are you interested in taking this somewhere with a little less..." He pauses and looks around. "Bass line?"

"I could be convinced to," Mitch says, smiling and leaning in a little. "Where did you have in mind?"

"I'm about fifteen minutes from here, if you don't mind unfamiliar territory," John says. "If you want to go elsewhere, you name it."

Mitch nods and sits back, smile spreading across his face. "Not that that was a test, but you passed," he says. "Also, like, not that I expected you not to. Naz had... a lot of nice things to say about you."

John stands and grins. "I'd love to hear more about it," he says. "Your place or mine?"

-0-

They drive separately; it's a good call, because now that John knows what's coming tonight, he's almost twitchy with anticipation. It's not like he'd been lying to himself before now about how much he'd wanted to find out more about Mitch, but now it's a crazy kind of need. He can and will control himself, but driving in separate cars gives him a chance to step back, to breathe a little before jumping back in.

They're heading back to Mitch's place, which both is and isn't surprising. John isn't shocked that Mitch has somewhere he's more comfortable, and he's for sure not going to begrudge him that, but it's also a little surprising that Mitch would want someone new in his space so immediately. Then again, John knows that Naz had vouched for him, so that probably has something to do with it.

John takes a deep breath as he punches the code Mitch had given him into the gate at the parking garage. There's an almost nervous kind of excitement under his skin. Anticipation is a hell of a thing.

"Miss me?" Mitch asks after John parks and gets out of his car. He's grinning, expression bright, as he leans against the wall near the building's entrance. He couldn't have been more than two minutes ahead of John, but he looks like he's been hanging out there all night, waiting.

It's ridiculously effective, John thinks, even if it's clearly a move.

"Maybe I did," John replies, stopping a foot away. "Want to take me upstairs so we can talk about how much?"

Mitch laughs. "We can do that."

He waves at the security person in the lobby as he leads John in. It's a nice building, clean and modern, and John doesn't know Mitch well yet but even he can tell that Mitch feels at home here. It's maybe an odd detail to make him feel more settled, but John has accepted that he's maybe a little odd.

"So," Mitch says, leading him off the elevator and down a nondescript hall. "Tell me something about yourself that I don't already know."

John considers the question while Mitch pulls out his keys. "What kind of thing?" he asks.

"You choose," Mitch says, shrugging a little and pushing the door open. "It's not a test, it's a conversation starter."

John laughs a little. "I think wine is better than beer, but I don't drink it often because most of the guys I've played with don't like it as much."

"Red or white?" Mitch asks. he kicks his shoes off and John follows suit; when in Rome and all that.

"Depends on what I'm eating," John replies. "I don't know a lot about pairings or whatever, but I know enough to drink lighter when I eat lighter."

"Yeah, true," Mitch says. He leads John into the kitchen and leans back against the counter. "What if you were just drinking it, though? Just ordering a glass to have."

"Red," John decides. "It's… heavier. I like the feeling of drinking it, I guess."

"Makes sense," Mitch replies. "I don't have any wine, but I'm not against drinking it."

"Good to know," John says. "Want to talk about other things you're in favour of or against?"

"Smooth," Mitch says, grinning. "In general? My safeword is kumquat, and I've never felt the need to use it. It's probably easier for you to ask about something specific than it is for me to list things."

John nods. "You like being told what to do? Me telling you how good you're being, that kind of thing?"

"Yeah," Mitch says. "I can go down pretty hard, too. Naz says you know what you're doing, and I trust his judgement, but I don't want to go there tonight. Not the first time, not until I'm comfortable."

"Smart," John says. He'd been about to suggest the same thing; this is going better than he ever could have expected, and it's making part of him hum with excitement about possibilities for the future. Part of having that future is making sure everything in the present goes as well as possible, though, and it's better to take things slow. "So what do you want tonight?"

Mitch hums a little. "To hear your suggestions," he says. "I can always come up with an idea, but part of the fun for me is seeing what there is to work with, what you like and what we can both get out of it. It's kind of an unusual icebreaker, but I'm here for it anyway."

It's an interesting maybe-test, but John's pretty sure his answer will be good enough. "I want to eat you out," he says bluntly. "You on your hands and knees on your bed with your ass in the air, me behind you. Gotta keep yourself upright or I'll pause until you can."

"Is that a challenge?" Mitch asks, but his eyes are darker, more intently focused. "Because I can stay up."

"I'm sure you can," John says. He is, too; Mitch is made of determination and focus, and John's seen evidence of it in both of the videos he's got double password-protected on his laptop now. "Can you come from it?"

"If you're good enough at it," Mitch says, voice a little too sweet for belief. "I have before, but not in a while. The guy who used to get me there that way got a steady girlfriend, and nobody's even come close to what he could do."

"I'm willing to give it a try," John says, raising an eyebrow. "I promise you'll come tonight one way or another, even if I have to get a hand involved."

"Sound like you're up for the challenge too," Mitch observes. "You want a drink, or you want to just get to it?"

"Not that I was expecting this to be the pinnacle of romance, but it's not really your thing, is it?" John asks, grinning.

Mitch laughs. "I mean, it can be," he says. "I've dated before. I like it, but it has to be with the right person, and I for sure don't do the whole monogamy thing. It's mostly easier just to fuck around with the team, get what I need from them during the season, and then just spend my summers getting it from friends." He smiles, wide and open. "Not that I need to sell you on the GTA or the team, but spending my summers in a place where I know a lot of local players really works for me."

John shakes his head, but he's still grinning. "Seems like it would," he says. "I'm fine with grabbing a glass of water for the bedstand and getting to it if you don't have anything else you want to get to first."

"Great," Mitch says, turning to get a glass from a cabinet behind him. He walks to the sink, then turns on the little water filter attached to the faucet. It doesn't take long for the glass to fill, and then he's turning back to face John. "Let's get this going, then. I want to see what you've got."

-0-

John wasn't expecting Mitch to be shy, but he's not as prepared as he maybe should be for Mitch to strip, crawl to the middle of his bed, and position himself exactly how John had described. It leaves him open, vulnerable in ways that John still isn't good at being with people he's known for a long time, and John can only admire the way Mitch dives in, confident that the water will part smoothly when he lands in it.

"Question," John asks, standing by the side of the bed. "Do you have a preference on whether I stay clothed or not?"

"I like skin," Mitch says, folding his arms and leaning down on them, "but I have no problems with you keeping your clothes on if you want to, or you're more comfortable, or whatever reason. Just don't stay dressed on my account."

John nods. "I'll keep my boxers on," he decides, starting to unbutton his shirt. "The rest can go."

"Hell yes it can," Mitch says, tone appreciative as John strips out of his clothes. "Just so you know, Auston is going to be very jealous of your abs."

John hums a little. "I'm not gonna lie to you, if I'd thought about it before I got that video, I would have figured that if you were sleeping with a teammate it'd be him."

Mitch laughs. "I mean, I totally get why," he says. "But he's got someone else, and other than me and summers, they're monogamous."

"Rielly," John guesses, remembering the video. "Right?"

"Right," Mitch confirms. "They're, like, gross levels of cute at each other when they think nobody's looking, and they're both terrifically boring in bed, but I like them anyway."

"I'll do my best to be better than 'terrifically boring,'" John promises as he climbs onto the bed. "I'm not saying every time is gonna rock your world, but I do try to have standards."

Mitch laughs. "Trust me when I say that Mo's entire face would catch on fire if he even _thought_ about someone eating me out, and he'd never be able to do it himself. He's so vanilla that it's actually kind of adorable. This will be entirely world-rocking compared to rubbing off on each other very gently with so much lube it's like a slip and slide in bed."

John's laughing as he sits beside Mitch. It's not that he thought Mitch would be boring or anything, but it's a nice revelation that he's actually really funny. John likes a lot of things, but having the kind of atmosphere that makes laughing during sex easy and fun is right up there.

"I'm ready when you are, but if you want to take your time, I'm fine with that too," Mitch adds. "Just let me know when you want to get started. You issued a challenge before, and I'm not gonna try to cheat it."

John settles a hand on Mitch's calf. "How much warning do you want for things? I can give you a play by play or nothing or something in between."

"We're not doing anything too crazy tonight," Mitch says, doing something that would probably be a shrug if he wasn't pretty much laying on his shoulders. "I'm fine with just going with it, unless you want to change the play."

"Okay," John says. "I'm ready, then."

"Up and at 'em," Mitch says, and John can hear the grin as he pushes himself off the bed. "I was promised some world-rocking."

"I specifically remember _not_ promising to rock your world," John says, moving so he's behind Mitch. "I might, but I might not. I haven't decided yet."

Mitch laughs. "I guess we'll see," he says. "How much do you mind me moving around? I can stay still, if that's what you're into."

John thinks about it: thinks about Mitch straining to stay still beneath him, about aborted little hitches of his hips and tiny motions that are too much to control. "Nah, go for it," he decides, tucking the idea away for later. "You want to know what I like, and I want to know what you like. We'll figure it out."

"Sounds good," Mitch says. He spreads his legs a little farther apart and arches his back, which pushes his ass up, and John has to work hard not to stare. "Let's do this."

"Yeah," John says. He doesn't really need to be more eloquent, he figures; even if Mitch does have a nice ass, it's not like John's here to recite poetry about it or whatever. It's enough to scoot down the bed and position himself between Mitch's legs, to let his fingers wander up the plane of Mitch's back, down the strong line of his thighs.

He waits, but Mitch doesn't complain or ask him to hurry up or anything. It makes John wonder if he's naturally this patient or if this is him putting on a show; there's no real way to know without asking, John figures, and it doesn't actually matter right now anyway. He presses his finger against Mitch's hole, hard enough to feel but not hard enough to actually push in, and Mitch lets out a little sigh and rocks back.

John smiles. "Ready?"

"Been ready," Mitch says. "I don't need you to ease me into it, unless that's what you're into."

"Sometimes," John says, shrugging even though Mitch can't see it. 

"Okay," Mitch says. "Then I'm waiting."

John shakes his head a little, pushing against Mitch again. He likes teasing, and he likes taking his time, and he likes seeing how things will go if he doesn't do as he's expected to do. Sometimes, though, he likes just going for it, so he doesn't wait any longer before bracing his free hand on the bed and leaning in to lick the crease of Mitch's thigh. Mitch hums and goes still, and just as John's about to tell him that he doesn't have to, Mitch laughs. "Easier to hit a target that's not moving," he says, wriggling his hips a little, and John snorts.

"You're something else," he says, and then he spreads Mitch's cheeks and leans in.

There's an immediate kind of power to eating someone out; it's in the way Mitch inhales and relaxes, in the little noises he lets out as John teases with his tongue, licking gently at the rim before pushing his tongue in. John has always reveled in it when his partners liked getting eaten out; it's not for everyone on either side of the equation, but John is unsurprised and glad in equal measure to find out how responsive Mitch is as John works his tongue inside him.

"Okay," Mitch says, and John pulls back. "Okay, I know you said you didn't need me to keep still, but how would you feel about me actively riding your face? Because there's a difference between me not moving at all and me just kind of going with it and me going for it."

"Go for it," John says. "I'm not really here to see how long you can last. Not tonight, at least."

Mitch laughs, and it's a little breathy. "Gotta save something for round two."

John hums, very purposefully leaning in so his lips brush against Mitch as he does it. Mitch reacts beautifully, rolling his hips back against John's face, and it's so, so easy for John to lose himself in it then. Mitch keeps moving, and they settle into a rhythm almost too quickly for John to believe it. Mitch isn't shy about letting John know what's good, what's even better than that, and John follows the cues laid out for him, using his hands to spread Mitch wider so he can get in closer, push his tongue in deep and pull out to lick around the rim. John's not really going for any kind of pattern, but it's clearly working for Mitch anyway, given how he keeps moving his hips, rocking back against John, speeding up incrementally until he's pushing back and gasping.

"God, I'm close," Mitch chokes out. John's not sure how long they've been at it, not exactly, but the feeling in his jaw and the way Mitch's arms are trembling a little lets him know that it's probably been a while. He's firmly ignoring how hard he is, because there's a time and a place, and both will be soon, but right now is for Mitch. Mitch, who drops his head and circles his hips a little, and John can be nice, so he licks gently a few times and then pushes his tongue in as deep as he can get it. Mitch groans like the sound is being pulled right from his chest, and John pulls Mitch's cheeks apart a fraction of an inch more, gets himself just that much closer in, and Mitch cries out and pushes back erratically and shakes as he comes without either of them touching his dick.

John's good at reading people; he needs it on the ice, sure, but he likes being in charge when it comes to most kinds of situations, which means that he's had to make sure he notices everything he can at all times. It means that he keeps licking until he catches the hitching in Mitch's breathing, then backs away gently, licking once more at Mitch's hole before letting go of his ass and rubbing soothingly at his thigh. "Check in with me, Mitchy."

"Good," Mitch says, letting out a breathy laugh. "Just so you know, I'm gonna collapse now, but I totally didn't before I came, so I still win."

John snorts as Mitch lets himself drop. It's a nice view, John's not going to lie; Mitch's flush goes pretty much everywhere, up and down his neck, his upper back. He's breathing a little hard still, and John settles back, kneeling behind Mitch and finally shoving his boxers down so he can get a hand around himself. He groans at the touch; he can ignore his arousal, yeah, but when it's brought back into sudden, sharp focus, it's a little overwhelming in the best way.

Mitch rolls halfway over so he can look at John. "I can help with that."

"Nope," John says. "I can take care of it tonight. You just lay there and look pretty."

It makes Mitch smirk, and then he splays his hand wide against his hip, trailing his fingers slowly up across his abs. He throws his head back when he rubs at his nipple, and John belatedly realises that telling Mitch to look pretty was very clearly asking for a show. It's not like he minds it at all, so he just stares and works his cock as Mitch lets his hand drift back down, running along the side of his thigh before hitching his leg up. He spreads his legs a little and it opens him up, and it's not like John needs Mitch to reach down and rub gently at his hole before slipping a finger in, but it doesn't hurt a damn thing. John sucks in a stuttering breath, then hunches forward a little as he shudders through his orgasm.

"Nice," John hears as he's trying to collect his thoughts. He blinks his eyes open to find Mitch smiling a little crookedly at him. "Sorry about the multiple wet spots, but you should definitely come up here and cuddle me."

John laughs a little, but it's not like he hates the idea or anything, so he pushes himself up the bed and lays out flat. He reaches out for Mitch just as Mitch rolls into him, and it's easy to laugh, to curl Mitch into him, to let their breathing fall into sync as they lay together quietly.

"So," Mitch says after a few moments. "That feels like it's worth a repeat performance."

"Might want to change the tune a little, but I'm here for another go," John says. "Not tonight, though. Tonight I'm tired."

"You can stay," Mitch says. "If you want. I'm not going to drop, so I'm not gonna ask you to hang around to watch out, but I'm also not kicking you out."

John considers it; staying the night feels like a lot really quickly, but then again, he's never eaten a guy out the first time before, either. "I'll stay if we can change the sheets first," he compromises.

Mitch laughs. "That totally works for me."

-0-

The weird thing about living in Toronto, John thinks, is that since it's kind of the centre of the hockey world, you're bound to run into hockey people kind of all the time. Run into them, literally; John's not a morning person, never has been, but his summer routine includes grocery shopping on Monday mornings, so here he is, trudging through Loblaws with his list clutched in a semi-death grip. He hadn't been looking where he was going, and he's apologising even as he's running into whoever is standing still in the entrance to the cereal aisle, but he stops short when the guy starts laughing even before he turns around.

"Did you try to give up caffeine again?" Ryan Strome asks, going in for a hug. John hugs back on autopilot, flashing back to too many mornings with Ryan climbing into his bed with a hot cup of coffee, easing John into his day in the best possible way. It hadn't been anything other than a fun kind of companionship for either one of them, and it's not like they'd been heartbroken when Ryan had been traded, but it's still a little weird to get a hug from someone who's technically an ex while the Cap'n Crunch boxes are all lined up watching you.

"I've had coffee," John says belatedly as Ryan pulls away. "I had _two_ coffees."

"You know you're not supposed to leave the house before at least three," Ryan teases, grinning at him. "How'd you survive the drive here without causing a major road incident?"

The answer is that John had taken surface roads instead of the highway, but he doesn't have to say it out loud. From the way Ryan's just barely not laughing, he probably knows it. "Do they have my granola?" he asks instead of blurting out anything about how it's kind of refreshing to see someone he knows, someone who knows him so well and doesn't currently hate him for signing with a different team. "Since you're blocking the aisle."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Halfway down, top shelf on the right," he says. "They don't move it around just to fuck with you."

"They might," John grumbles, and Ryan laughs as John pushes past him.

"Hey," he calls after John. "I hear you're hooking up with my brother's summer thing."

John freezes, hands tightening on the handle of his shopping cart. "What?"

"My brother Dylan's summer thing," Ryan clarifies, nonchalant and careful at the same time. "I'm not pissed or about to yell at you or whatever, man. They're completely casual, and besides, my brother's waiting for his crush to notice him and probably will be until he dies. I just think it's kind of hilarious."

Mitch's summer hookup is Dylan Strome, John thinks with a muted kind of horror. He slept with Mitch, which means he's one person removed from Dylan. Ryan's younger brother Dylan, the kid who had come to hang out with them in Long Island before things had started to feel too fraught around the edges, the kid who had eaten so much oatmeal that John had sort of worried about his digestive system and who had stared so openly at the way Ryan and John had sat on the sofa, casually touching, that John had made sure to sit down with him and tell him that it wasn't that bad, liking guys in the league, but it wasn't always the safest thing, and he should probably try to be a little more careful.

"Yeah, no," John decides. His granola is right where Ryan had said it would be, so he reaches up to grab two bags and then tosses them into his cart. "I need more coffee."

Ryan starts laughing again, following him down the aisle. "Finish your shopping and let's grab lunch," he suggests. "I'll buy."

"Finally starting to pay back the tab you ran up on the Island?" John says, but he's grinning. "Fine. The deli in an hour and a half? I have to run all this shit home."

"See you there," Ryan says. He taps John gently in the back of the legs with his cart. "There's some payback for you, if that's what you're looking for."

"Brat," John mutters, but Ryan's laughing again as he turns the other way at the end of the aisle.

Shopping goes easier with a goal at the end of it; John finishes up and gets everything home and put away in time to get to the deli and order a coffee before Ryan gets there. Ryan just laughs as he slides into the seat across from John, and listening to Ryan order exactly what John figured he'd order is a kind of familiarity that John hadn't really known he was craving until right now.

"So," Ryan says, kicking lightly at John's foot. "Has Anders called you yet, or..."

John winces and glances away. "I texted, but no, not yet."

Ryan whistles, and when John looks back, there's nothing but sympathy on his face. "Not that I don't get why they're upset," Ryan says, "but, like. It's your life, man, and it was always your choice. They'll come around."

"I hope so," John says. He doesn't like feeling small like this, especially not as a response to a choice that he made with his own happiness in mind. He knows the guys on the Island have a right to feel abandoned, but he also remembers Boych and Leds texting him after Ryan was traded, little comforting things and reminders that business moves don't have to end friendships. It's hard to get radio silence from them now, but John's taking this whole thing a day at a time.

"Anyway," Ryan says as John takes another sip of his coffee. "How's the Leaf life? Any fun perks, other than the obvious?"

John chokes and spits coffee back into his mug, which is completely disgusting, but still probably better than spewing it across the table. He can feel his face heating as Ryan starts laughing, and he's honestly unsure if Ryan knows about Mitch's whole team thing, or if he's shooting in the dark and thinks John's about to reveal something else entirely.

"Uh," John says, wiping at his face with a napkin. "I mean, I'm enjoying getting to know the guys."

Ryan smirks at him. "I've heard."

"Wait," John says, narrowing his eyes at Ryan as he remembers part of his conversation with Mitch. "Your brother's summer fling told me that _his_ summer fling had a huge thing for someone."

"That is a lot of beating around the bush," Ryan says. He looks around casually, probably ensuring that nobody is listening in, and then leans in. "Dylan's had the biggest thing for Davo since they were kids together. I'm trying to see if there's any shot at that being reciprocated, but so far all I've got is 'he just plays hockey.'"

"Yikes," John says, and that's pretty much all that's running through his head. "I mean, it's possible?"

Ryan laughs. "It is," he agrees. "And I don't want to have to try to sleep with him to figure out if he's into non-hockey things, so I'm _also_ trying to figure out who on the team has the best chance of working that particular line of investigation."

John snorts. "I see moving back to Canada full-time hasn't cured you of watching too many true crime shows."

"Road trips remain a thing, my friend," Ryan says easily, leaning back in his chair. "And I need something to distract me, now that I'm not travelling with... someone distracting."

"You're not hurting for prospects, I'm sure," John says dryly. They'd fallen into bed together because it was convenient and fun, but it had never been anything more than that, and Ryan had gotten around plenty. If he's not sleeping with a teammate or five in Edmonton, John's sure it's because he's chosen not to try it for some reason.

Sure enough, Ryan flushes and looks away. "Maybe," he says evasively. "I might be trying something."

"Trying something," John echoes. "Got a name?"

"Ryan," Ryan says sweetly, and John's about to make some sort of snappy comeback when the penny drops. He has no idea what his face does, but Ryan starts laughing again.

"Just tell me you don't go around calling each other Ryan all the time," John says, sighing and trying to hide a smile.

"Maybe we do," Ryan says loftily. "Anyway, it's not really anything yet. I'm working on it, but it turns out that BC boys don't put out before the first date."

"Does that make him the better Ryan or you the better Ryan?" John asks. He's grinning now, but whatever; it's not like Ryan didn't know he was trying not to anyway.

"We're both awesome," Ryan proclaims as their food arrives, and John just has to laugh.

-0-

It's almost two weeks before Mitch texts him, a simple _wyd_ that John only knows the meaning of because he played hockey with Mat Barzal last season, and if that kid has ever once texted a fully typed out word to anyone, it's because he didn't re-correct his autocorrect before the text was sent.

 _Nothing,_ John texts back. _Why, are you bored and lonely?_

 _u could say that,_ Mitch replies. _i got cancelled on._

John rolls his eyes. _Glad to hear I'm your second choice._

Mitch texts three crying-laughing emojis. _ur above who i got ditched for by, like, a hundred, if that helps any?_

John considers what he thinks he knows about the situation, then hits call. Mitch answers immediately, and John leads with, "That depends. Are you telling me that I'm better in bed than Connor McDavid?"

Mitch starts laughing so hard that John can't help but smile. "God, yes," he wheezes. "Not even a comparison, man."

"Then all is forgiven," John says, leaning back in his chair. 

Mitch is still laughing a little under his breath. "I actually had a proposition for you."

"A proposition," John drawls. "Really."

"Really really," Mitch confirms. "There are a few other local guys on the team. I was gonna send out a group text, see who was free, pick a place to go get drinks."

"I could be up for that," John says. "Naz, I'm guessing, and I know Hyman's in the area. Who else?"

"Brownie and Dermott," Mitch replies. "Dicky Clune's on the Marlies, and he's a great guy, but if we're getting drinks he won't come. Not his thing."

"Right," John says, nodding a little. "Maybe I should, like, do burgers with him. Does he do burgers?"

Mitch snorts. "He's kind of a health food nut," he advises. "Maybe start at steak and see what he talks you into from there. If you start at burgers, he's gonna have you drinking kale smoothies until your skin turns green."

"That seems counterproductive," John says, humming a little.

It makes Mitch laugh. "Anyway, I'll see who's up for going out and I'll text you the address of whatever place I decide on," he says. "If that works for you."

"Works for me," John confirms. "See you later."

It's just a get-together, John tells himself firmly as he hangs up the phone. The chances of Mitch actually inviting five people back to his place for anything more is... well, John's not going to say it's completely out of the question, but he'd like to think that some kind of warning would be involved if that was the case.

Mitch texts that Brown is busy but the rest of the guys are in, and the address that follows is definitely not for Mitch's apartment. It's far enough from John that he figures leaving early is the better part of actually getting there before everyone else gets bored and goes home, so he doesn't wait long before getting in his car and heading over.

Naz is already there when John arrives, and it's good to see a familiar face waving him over to a table. "Hey, man," Naz greets, giving him a patented athlete hug-and-back-slap combo. "Long time."

"Gotta say, man, it's good to be home," John says, clapping him on the back before pulling away. "Although this team is not exactly what I thought it was."

Naz snorts. "That's just Mitchy."

"And everything else is just normal?" John asks, raising an eyebrow. "It's the _Leafs,_ Naz."

"Trust me, I know," Naz says, flashing him a smile. "And it's as crazy as you think it's gonna be, I promise."

John laughs. "Good. I think I might be disappointed if it wasn't."

Naz hums a little. "Mitchy, though," he says, leaning in a little. "You know what tonight's about?"

John blinks. "He was bored," he ventures. "At least, that's what he told me."

"I'm sure he is," Naz says. "Summers are weird for him. He's got a pretty solid regular thing and a few other people besides, but it's not team. Team's... kind of a big deal for him."

"I gathered that much," John says.

"I don't know if you have yet, man," Naz says, uncharacteristically serious. "Like, I know you've seen the video, and I know you've had some of the talks, but... I don't know how to explain it. I guess you'll see, once the season gets into full swing, but tonight isn't just about him not having someone else to hook up with."

"I kind of figured this was just hanging out," John starts.

Naz snorts. "Not on your life. This is Mitchy getting as many people in the same place as he can so he can, like, suck up some team energy or whatever, and then figuring out who he wants to go home with."

John blinks a few times. "Oh."

"And that might be more than one person," Naz goes on. "I guess it's a good idea for you to get the hang of this before the season starts, though. It's all his choice, all his doing, and it can be kind of weird getting used to it."

"When did you become the Mitch Marner expert?" John wonders. "You were never good at people."

"Fuck you, I'm amazing at people," Naz says, shoving him and grinning. "Always been good enough at you, at least."

"So you're not the Mitch handler, you're the me handler," John says. "I don't know if that makes it better or worse, Naz."

"Decide soon," Naz advises. "Man of the hour's here."

John turns and sees Mitch beelining for their table, his wide smile firmly fixed on his face. "Hey," he says, beaming as he slides in next to Naz. "You guys are early."

"I figured you might want a little snuggle before everyone got here," Naz says easily, like that's a thing he says, like that's a thing a teammate does in public. Mitch just keeps beaming at him, though, and he leans easily into the side-hug that Naz pulls him into. He doesn't sit back up and Naz doesn't push him away, and it's—interesting, John thinks. He wouldn't claim that he gets the whole Mitch thing, not so soon, but this is something that he wasn't necessarily expecting, and he's really starting to understand just how much he _doesn't_ understand about what's going on here.

"Derms and Hyms should be here soon," Mitch says. "You met either one of them yet, JT?"

"Nah," John says, smiling a little. "It'll be good to get to know a couple of the guys, though."

Naz snorts, not even bothering to try to hide it, and Mitch grins sharply. John flashes back to what Naz was saying just before Mitch got here: that this is sort of a trial for Mitch picking who he wants tonight, that it might be more than one of them. That John might end up _knowing_ a lot more about some of his teammates than he ever could have anticipated by the time the night is over.

"Yeah," Mitch says after a beat. It's almost like he's determined to not let anything be awkward, and John's pretty sure he'd be able to manage it. "If the rumours are true, you and me and Hyms are gonna be lineys. We should figure out a time for us to all get lunch together, maybe get a workout in."

"You're stealing my liney, JT," Naz says, pouting dramatically and hugging Mitch closer to his side. "I take back everything I said about being glad you're on the team. Leave Mitchy with me."

Mitch laughs, twisting so he can press a kiss to Naz' cheek. "You're gonna be fine," he says. "And we'll always have the power play."

"I guess I'll live," Naz says. "Maybe I'll get Kappy. That'd be sick."

"Maybe you'll get me, and I'll never get away from your ugly mug," someone says, and John turns to see Travis Dermott smiling at them. "I mean, probably not, since I am very definitely a shitty winger, but Babs is gonna do whatever he wants, so I guess it's possible."

"You could learn to play wing," Mitch says, leaning away from Naz and grinning at Dermott. "I bet you'd be good at it."

Dermott laughs. "Whatever you say, Mitchy," he says. "I feel like Babs would probably be happiest if I just upped my defensive game, though."

"Freddie would probably be happy," Hyman adds, appearing behind Dermott. "Hey, guys."

"Zach," Mitch says happily. He shoves at Naz until Naz slides over, rolling his eyes theatrically, and then he gestures. "C'mon, sit down. I need a hug."

"What, am I not good enough?" Naz protests as Hyman sits.

"Clearly not," Hyman shoots back as Mitch leans into him. "Bony shoulders, man."

It's really something else, John thinks as he makes a spot for Dermott to sit. Naz is scowling and pouting all over the place, but he's clearly only doing it because it makes Mitch laugh; John's seen him after he lost whatever girl he was trying to pick up, and this is so far removed from actually irritated that it's a little shocking to John. It's not that he hadn't expected his old friend to grow up a little, but it's one thing to think a guy might be able to keep his cool and another to see him actually doing it in the face of being so clearly rejected.

Or maybe not, John revises as Mitch leans back against Naz. It's almost dizzying, trying to follow whatever's playing out in front of him.

Dermott laughs quietly. "Just go with it," he advises, and when John turns to look at him, Dermott's grinning in his direction. "Stop trying to figure shit out, man. Nobody's good at knowing what's going on in Mitchy's head."

"I usually win at that game," Mitch offers, smiling. He's leaning back against Hyman, who's got an arm tucked around Mitch's shoulders. "But not always."

"Can't say that I'm shocked to hear that," John says dryly. Everyone laughs, and something in John settles a little. It's not the team gatherings he's used to; the guys are new, yeah, but he'd never seen two teammates doing what can really only be called cuddling so openly in public before. They start talking hockey, though, and it's easy to navigate the conversation, even if the setting is unfamiliar.

It's an easy hour before Dermott pulls his phone out and hums. "Oh, hey, a couple of guys want to go see a movie," he says. "Anyone got any input on whether the new _Mission: Impossible_ is worth it?"

"I feel like I have to encourage you to go see a rom-com, just because Matts isn't here," Naz says. "But, like. It's _Mission: Impossible,_ bro. Go watch a bunch of shit get blown up."

Dermott laughs. "Fair," he says. "See you when I see you, guys."

"Night, Derms," Mitch says. "Enjoy the explosions."

"Cool guys don't looks at explosions," Hyman adds. "So you should be fine."

Dermott laughs and shoves at Hyman's shoulder as he stands. "Takes a nerd to know one," he says. "Later, JT. Good to have you on the team."

"Later," John echoes. Dermott seems nice enough, but John's trying to figure out the mechanics of whatever metric Mitch is using to make whatever choice he's making tonight. Did John miss Dermott getting excused, or—

"Earth to Johnny boy," Naz says, and when John looks over at him, he's laughing. "Why are you making thinking faces?"

John shrugs a little. "I'm not allowed to think now?"

"I mean, it'd be a change," Naz shoots back. "You actually learn things in New York?"

"Mostly that Long Islanders don't like being lumped in as New Yorkers," John says blandly.

Hyman laughs outright. "Burn."

"Burn _this,_ " Naz says, flicking him the middle finger, and John cracks a smile. Team's still team.

"Anyway," Mitch says, grinning. "Naz, man, thanks for coming. I know it was super short notice."

"Hey, man, gotta help you welcome the new guy to the team," Naz says, smiling easily. "Especially if it's this guy."

Mitch shifts a little, and Hyman pulls back the arm he's had around Mitch's shoulders for pretty much the entire night. It leaves Mitch free to lean in and knock shoulders with Naz. "We still on for skate on Thursday morning?"

"You bet," Naz confirms. "See you guys later."

John waves at Naz as he stands and nods at them before sauntering away. He's not surprised to find Mitch curled back into Hyman's side when he looks back across the table. "So," he starts. "Excuse me for being kind of blunt about it, but I'm guessing I should make an exit too?"

Mitch looks a little surprised, but Hyman laughs. "You're bad at explaining the rules," he says, nudging Mitch with his shoulder before turning to John. "You can totally go if you want, man. None of this is a command performance, not now, not ever."

"No means no, and honestly, anything other than a complete and total yes is a no," Mitch adds. "And if you have rules about it on your side, that's also totally fine, and it's something I will respect one hundred percent. Some of the guys don't want me to approach them if they've had bad days, or if I want to do something with more than one person. Everybody's got boundaries, and I know this whole situation is..." He smiles briefly. "Unconventional. I think that's what JVR called it."

"And you'll know if you're not being asked along," Hyman says. "Mitchy makes himself pretty clear in the end."

Mitch laughs and leans forward, and Hyman moves easily with him. "Come back to mine," he says, voice confident, pitched so it won't carry even more than the rest of their conversation has been. "With me and with Zach."

-0-

It's not that John doesn't understand the appeal of having whoever you're sleeping with call you by your first name instead of making it about hockey. It would be sort of hypocritical of him to say otherwise, given what he'd said to Mitch. It's still a little strange to him when Hyman requests to be called Zach.

"It's just, I don't know," Zach says, shrugging easily. He's got really nice shoulders, John notes; it's not hard to see, now that he's got his shirt off. "There's a difference between this and other team stuff, y'know? This is more personal."

"It better be," Mitch says. He's on the bed in his boxers, watching as Zach peels his clothes off one piece at a time. Mitch is a hurricane of movement in everything he does; his clothing is pretty much everywhere. Zach is completely the opposite, taking his clothes off fluidly but with a little care. It's like he doesn't want to wear it home wrinkled, John thinks with a grin. It's endearing in a way John wasn't quite expecting.

"You should get with the program," Zach says, and John blinks. Zach's smiling at him, open and easy, standing there in his briefs as he pulls his socks off. He gestures to Mitch. "He's not good at waiting once things get going."

"I can be," Mitch contradicts, fluttering his eyelashes. "You don't like it if you think I'm not into it, though, so I make sure to let you know that I am."

Zach flushes a little, light across his cheekbones. "I mean, you don't have to."

Mitch laughs a little, but it doesn't sound mean-spirited at all to John. "C'mere," he says, easy, holding a hand out. "You're cute and I want to kiss you."

It makes Zach smile. "I don't want to leave John out of this," he says, glancing over. "You gonna join us, or do you want to watch?"

There's no judgement in his voice, and Mitch doesn't add anything; it's his choice, John realises, and however Mitch had managed to set everything up with the team, he'd done it in a way that made everyone's boundaries and preferences a priority. It's at least a little awe-inspiring, John decides. "I'll join you guys," he says. "Do we have a plan, or are we just seeing what happens?"

Mitch smiles at him. "You always need a plan?"

"No," John replies, shrugging a little. "I just like to make sure I'm not steamrolling anyone else's ideas when I wing it."

"No plans on my end," Zach says. "But I'm usually not the one making the plans."

"You can if you want," Mitch offers. "What do you want tonight?"

Zach laughs. "To see what John wants to do," he replies, and then he honest-to-god winks at John before leaning in to kiss Mitch.

John's somewhere between Mitch and Zach when it comes to getting undressed; he doesn't throw his clothes in every direction, but a neat puddle on the floor is good enough for him. He's long past the point in his life where he minds if other people notice he's wearing the same clothes home that he'd gone out in the night before.

It doesn't take him long, but when he looks back to the bed, he has to stop and stare for a second. Mitch is stretched out on the bed, and Zach is bracing himself on his arms, ducking his head down to kiss along Mitch's jaw. Mitch sighs a little and tilts his head back, and Zach doesn't pause, just keeps making his way down the line of Mitch's throat.

He watches for a minute, maybe a little longer, and then he makes his way towards the bed. There's room for him to sit; John would bet that Mitch goes to the middle of the bed on purpose so there's always room for someone to join, but even if it's not a purposeful move, the room is there, so John takes it. It makes Mitch turn his head towards John, but Zach just keeps going, and Mitch _smiles._ "Hi."

"Hi," John says, smiling back. "What are the rules here?"

Zach finally pulls back at that. He pushes up until he's resting on his knees, straddled across Mitch's thighs. "I have no idea what you're into," he volunteers, "but I have no problem with you and I touching each other. Some of the guys aren't into it, and it's fine if you're not."

John's a little surprised, if he's being honest; sure, plenty of the scenes on the video had been multiple people, but with the exception of Matthews and Rielly, none of them had really touched each other. It had all been focused, in one way or another, on Mitch, and hearing that it isn't always like that by design is a little unexpected.

Still, though, he can roll with the punches. "I'm game," he says. "How far do you want this to go?"

Zach shrugs a shoulder. "I mean, I want everyone here to get off, however that happens. Unless you don't want to."

John snorts. "I want to," he says. "That's not my thing."

"Not really mine either," Mitch says, and it's not the first preference John has heard out of him, but he makes sure to make a mental note of it anyway. "Waiting is cool, but just not getting off? Nah."

"There's more to sex than orgasms," Zach says, voice a little lofty. John's about to comment, but he notices that Mitch is rolling his eyes and Zach is fighting a smile. There's a story there, then, and John can let it go if it's not an actual sanctimonious thing.

"Then you can give yours up," John says instead, and Mitch barks out a laugh as Zach turns to pout at John. "I mean, as proof."

"Ah, fuck you," Zach says good-naturedly. "But only if you roll that way."

"Not tonight," John says. "Mitch, any ideas here?"

Mitch hums a little. "Well, I want to get fucked," he says. "Maybe Zach can fuck me and you can suck me off?"

"I'm here for that," Zach says immediately. "John?"

John can see it pretty clearly in his head: Mitch on his side with Zach behind him, John with his mouth wrapped around Mitch. "We can suck each other off, maybe," John says, more thinking aloud than anything else, but he snaps back to attention when Zach groans.

Mitch is grinning. "Excellent plan," he says. "I vote Zach fingers me while I make out with John."

"You're gonna be the death of me," Zach says, patting Mitch on the hip.

"Haven't been yet," Mitch contradicts. "I think I'm good to keep trying at this point."

"I'll let you know if you should stop," Zach promises. "John, is that good with you?"

"Yeah," John says. He lays down on the bed, leaning in to kiss Mitch quickly, chastely. "I'm good to go."

"Well," Mitch says, smiling at John. "Let's get this show on the road, then."

-0-

The summer is great in ways John couldn't possibly have expected, but it's still the summer. There's no hockey, and his season ended way before he was ready for it to, so he starts itching to play real, meaningful hockey about halfway through August.

Ryan laughs when John calls him about it. "I mean, I can get us some ice time," he says. "But you and I both know that's not gonna be good enough."

John groans. "I'm just ready to get going again."

"You and me both, bud," Ryan says. "You need to burn that energy off some other way?"

"Don't you have a Ryan to woo?" John asks, raising an eyebrow. Ryan can't see him over the phone, but he has it on good authority that his raised eyebrows can be heard anyway.

"Wooing is happening," Ryan confirms. "And if you think I didn't start this whole thing out by asking what his thoughts were on people having open relationships, then you've forgotten more about me than you ever knew, Johnny."

John laughs. "I'm good on that front, but thanks for the offer," he says. "Tell me about the ball hockey thing."

It's easy to just sit and listen; he and Ryan had been friends before they'd been anything else, and it had been easy to return to that friendship, even if they're not the kind of people who will call each other all the time just for updates. John doesn't even wish they were those kinds of people most of the time.

"So Matt McLeod is just a permanent goalie now," Ryan concludes, and John laughs. "Hey, topic change. How's... everything?"

"Everything," John echoes. "Please narrow that down a little. Give me a direction here, Stromey."

Ryan sighs a little. "I know you haven't had the easiest time with the guys in New York."

John can feel the frown pulling over his face. "They're allowed to be mad."

"Yeah, and they're allowed to get the fuck over themselves," Ryan replies. "They're playing the loyalty card, as if most of them wouldn't kill for the chance to get out of there."

It makes John sigh. "That's mostly the fanbase, honestly," he says. "I mean, some of the guys are still mad, but most of them get it. I think."

"Which means nobody has called you," Ryan translates. "That's shitty. You know that's shitty, right?"

"I got a voicemail from Barz right after I signed," John offers. "It was kind of rambling, but he was supportive. I'm pretty sure, at least. He was... a little drunk."

Ryan snorts. "So your rookie called you," he says. "I'm gonna throttle so many guys."

"I got a text from Beau, too," John says, sighing when Ryan snorts again. "Please don't fight anyone. I don't want to see you bounce off of people."

"I'm gonna call Marty, and he's gonna beat them all up for me," Ryan says. "For you, actually. You know he will, too."

John opens his mouth, then closes it again. He's honestly not sure why it hadn't occurred to him until right now that he should call Marty. It's not like they're in parallel situations, not really, but Marty had also signed a big free agent deal with the Leafs, and now he's back with the Islanders. It's kind of a dick move on John's part that he hasn't called yet, now that he thinks about it.

"I'll call Marty," he says belatedly. "Shit. I'm the worst."

"You're not the worst, and I will kick the ass of anyone who tries to say you are," Ryan says firmly. "Including you, so cut that shit out."

It surprises a laugh out of John, and he's more relieved than he knows how to admit to Ryan. "I'll be better," he promises.

"Be better to _yourself,_ " Ryan says. "I know people on the Leafs. I can and will start up some kind of, like, spy ring to get people to check on you."

John laughs harder. "Noted."

"Don't think I won't," Ryan adds, and then he hangs up the phone.

John's smiling as he scrolls through his contacts; Ryan's a good guy, and he's not afraid to let people know he cares about them. It's a Strome thing, or so John has gleaned from the stories he's heard from Mitch. Apparently Dylan is the same way.

He stares at Marty's contact for a little while before tapping on it and starting a new message thread. _Hey,_ he starts eventually. _What's up?_

 _Wondered when you'd text,_ Marty answers a few minutes later. _I'm good, cap. How are you?_

John considers his answer. _Good,_ he finally decides. _Weird summer._

Marty sends back three eye-roll emojis in a row, and John has to snort. He knows exactly whose influence that is; Marty wasn't a huge emoji guy his first time in Long Island. _Is this an invite to grab coffee and catch up, or is this beer at your place because you have questions?_

 _Could be either,_ John replies truthfully. He's got questions, sure, but he's not going to pressure Marty into answering any of them.

 _I'll bring the beer,_ Marty sends back. _Tonight good?_

 _Tonight works for me,_ John replies. _See you later._

-0-

Marty shows up as John's cleaning up from making supper. It's comfortable to have Marty in his space again; they weren't the closest guys on the team back on the Island, but Marty has always been dependable in ways John isn't sure how to articulate appreciating. "Hey," Marty greets. "I brought Molson. Hope you're not a craft beer snob now."

"Not enough of one to turn down free beer," John says, drying his hands. "How've you been?"

Marty shrugs and sets the beer on the table. "Eh," he says. "You win some, you lose some."

"Games or teams?" John asks wryly.

"Yup," Marty answers, grinning, and John laughs and grabs a beer. "Congrats on the contract, man. I'm glad you get to come home."

"Thanks," John says. "I'm happy with the choice."

"I bet," Marty says. "I've seen the photos of you with those sheets, man. Classic."

John laughs again. "I hope the rest of the guys come around to your point of view," he says, glancing down. "I didn't mean to let anybody down. I guess I didn't really think people would see it that way for this long."

"Wait, guys are giving you a hard time?" Marty asks, leaning closer. John looks up, and Marty's frowning. "Who—Anders. Anders is being a dick, and I'm going to beat his entire ass."

John can't help the flicker of a smile that pops onto his face. "Please don't beat Anders up," he says. "Not even, like, a portion of his ass, let alone the whole thing."

Marty grabs a beer and uses it to point at John. "Pick a cheek," he advises. "I will beat one and leave the other free, but that's all you're getting."

It makes John laugh, fully and completely, and the anger melts into a smile on Marty's face. "I guess I pick right," he says, still smiling. "Up to you whether that's the one you beat or the one that gets saved, though."

Marty snorts. "Seriously, though? How many of them are being assholes?"

"They're allowed to be mad," John starts.

"Nope," Marty says. "Let me cut you off right there, man. They're allowed to be upset about it, sure, but they're not allowed to carry a grudge. As if none of them gets that it's a business." He snorts again. "The Islanders drafted your rights, not your _soul._ Jesus."

"That's a hell of a way to put it," John says. "I don't want to stir up shit, Marty."

"That is very definitely my job," Marty says, flashing him the smile that John's only ever seen right before someone realised that they made a very poor choice on the ice. He has less hair now, but somehow that makes it more scary, not less. "I promise not to beat anyone's ass even a little, Johnny, but I'm not going to let them treat you like shit just because you did something that you think is a good move for you personally. You think they gave _me_ that kind of lip?"

"They didn't," John says quietly. "At least, not where I could see. I would've said something."

"Exactly," Marty says, nodding. "So I'll say something. Several somethings, if I have to."

John laughs quietly. "I was sort of looking forward to playing with you again," he admits. "And now..."

Marty smiles a little crookedly. "I knew I was done playing here way before you signed on the dotted line," he says. "It's a great group of guys, Johnny. You're gonna fit in really well here, and I won't be shocked when you go all the way."

"Sorry you have to keep Lamoriello," John offers. "I bet you were hoping for somewhere that'd let you grow back the flow."

"Eh, Syd likes the short hair," Marty replies, pushing his hand through it. "I'll live."

John smiles. "How's she taking the move back?"

"Better than me, I think," Marty says, eyes crinkling as he smiles. "She's pretty pumped. She loved Toronto, but New York is more her style."

"I'm glad she's happy," John replies. "She liked it here, though?"

Marty snickers a little. "There were some... surprises."

John's pretty sure he manages to not make a face, but he can feel how quickly his cheeks starts to burn. Marty starts laughing for real, and John can only sigh and smile back. "I'm not even sure if you meant those surprises," he says. "But I was... yeah. Surprised is a good word for it."

"Did they send you the tape?" Marty asks. "I know Mitchy was pushing for it."

"Why am I not actually surprised that it was his idea?" John asks. "It was part of the... sales pitch, let's say."

"He's a good guy," Marty says. He's still smiling, but there's a little bit of the threatening side of Marty showing again. "You give him shit and you don't get a choice about which ass cheek I beat, okay?"

John holds both hands up. "I wouldn't," he says. "We've, uh. Met."

Marty blinks, then starts laughing again. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"We've actually _met_ a few times," John says. His face is probably tomato red, but Marty's still laughing, so John will take it. "I'm not gonna give him any shit, Marty."

"I didn't figure you would," Marty says, shaking his head a little as he calms down. "I just, y'know. Gotta be me."

"Just as a word of warning," John says, smiling a little. "Barz won't be much on the 'overprotective older brother' thing you had going on up here. Also, he's been decent, so no yelling at my rookie."

Marty hums, a considering little sound. "Anyone else? I'm gonna see if I can get everybody in the locker room so I only have to yell once."

"Beau reached out," John says, sighing. "Marty—"

"I will call Stromey," Marty cuts in. "I bet he knows everyone who's been a dick."

John clicks his mouth shut.

Marty sighs, and his face loses most of the humour. "I'm not actually going to yell, Johnny," he says. "But I _am_ going to talk to Anders and ask what the hell he thinks he's doing. Ladder, too, and Boych. Those guys should know better."

"I don't want any bad blood," John says. "Maybe they just lost their common sense when they had to shave the beards off."

Marty laughs again and it creases up his face, makes him look older and younger at the same time, somehow, and John misses being on a team with him in a sudden, sharp kind of way. "Maybe," he agrees. "I'll let you know."

-0-

John's texting back and forth with Mitch, and he's not really aiming for it to go anywhere, but he's also not really surprised when Mitch asks him if he wants to come over. It's a drive that's familiar enough to John at this point that he doesn't need to use his GPS, which is nice. Relearning Toronto has been kind of a weird process; some days he feels like he's forgotten an impossible amount, but every new route memorised now feels like some kind of victory.

"Hey," Mitch says, smiling as he opens his door. "No big plans for tonight?"

"Not really," John says, walking past Mitch into the apartment. "I kind of thought you'd be busy. Isn't Stromer heading back to Arizona soon?"

Mitch's smile gets even brighter. "You're never gonna guess."

"He… headed back early," John guesses, knowing it's wrong before he even says it but going for it anyway. 

"Nope," Mitch says. "He's actually over at Davo's confessing his epic feelings."

John laughs. "Really?" It's not that he's heard much, but from what he's gleaned from Mitch and Ryan, he'd thought that Dylan would carry his feelings to the grave, or at least to the end of his career. "And you're not saving your evening for him just in case?"

"I've already been given the all-clear," Mitch says delightedly, waving his phone around a little. "Apparently they're having feelings all over each other."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" John says, and Mitch laughs.

"I want to celebrate," Mitch says. "But, like, not with Dylan, because he's doing all kinds of celebrating right now with Davo."

"Yeah, probably a little soon to join that party," John agrees. "What did you have in mind?"

Mitch's grin goes a little sharp. "Remember how I said I didn't want to do anything heavy at first, not until I felt more comfortable?"

"Yeah," John says. He keeps his voice even, but it's a total lie: his heart is suddenly going a little quicker.

"I'm comfortable," Mitch says. "If you just want to mess around tonight, that's totally fine; I know springing it on you now doesn't mean you automatically want it now. I just wanted to let you know it's on the table as far as I'm concerned."

John nods and swallows. "Same here," he says. "Do you want to have more of a talk around things before we do anything?"

"My safeword is still kumquat, I don't like being choked, and I draw the line at anything that could possibly affect hockey," Mitch says. "If you have specific questions, I'll answer them, but that really covers it for me."

"Okay," John says, and he feels like he might be nodding a little too quickly, but Mitch won't call him on it. "And if I was interested in it being on the table for tonight?"

"I'm in," Mitch says immediately. "I don't get to play a lot over the summer. It's been… a while."

"A while," John repeats. "And you've said that you can get pretty deep into it."

"I can," Mitch confirms. "I don't always, but chances are good that I will tonight, if that's what we're doing."

"Then I'm staying," John says. "If we do this."

Mitch laughs, and there's something giddy about it. "Good," he says. "You know where the bedroom is when you're ready."

John hums a little, tilting his head and staring at Mitch while he counts to three in his head. Mitch looks back, doesn't try to duck away at all, and it's not like that's what makes John make his decision, but it doesn't hurt. "You go to the bedroom," he says finally. "Take your clothes off, but leave your boxers on. Sit by the side of the bed and wait for me."

"Quietly? " Mitch asks. "I do better with more directions."

"Quietly," John says, nodding. "You have five minutes, and then I'm coming in. Be ready."

"I will," Mitch promises before ducking down the hallway.

John sets a timer on his phone; he likes being precise, but he's also found that it helps whoever he's with to get a bit of a warning before he walks in. Surprises can be fun, but only when the timing is right, and it's not something John wants tonight. He hadn't come over here with a plan in mind, but he's got five minutes to figure out what he wants before he walks into Mitch's bedroom. It's never a good idea to start a scene like this without an idea of what's going on, John's learned, and he sure as hell wants to make sure this is as good as possible for Mitch. For both of them.

His timer goes off, a steady, cheerful beeping sound, and John lets it ring for a few seconds before walking down the hallway.

The door to the bedroom is wide open; Mitch is sitting with his legs crossed, his back to the bed, wearing only his boxers. The rest of his clothing is pretty much a direct trail to where he's sitting, but John's come to expect that by this point. "Good," he says, smiling, because part of this whole thing is rewarding Mitch when he does things right, and it's not like John had asked him to be neat about it. Maybe later, he thinks. Hopefully this goes well enough that there will be a next time.

Mitch smiles up at him, but he doesn't say anything.

"Good," John says again, walking up and cupping Mitch's jaw. "If you need to safeword for any reason, you can move however you need to. Sometimes people think they can't, so I just like to say it as a reminder. Okay?"

"Okay," Mitch says. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," John says, smiling. "I'm going to stay mostly dressed. Is that okay?" He pauses for a second, then adds, "If it's not, that's okay. We can talk it out."

"It's okay," Mitch says. "What are you going to do?"

"I want you to blow me," John says. "Hands behind your back. Do you like hands in your hair?"

Mitch makes a slightly pained-sounding noise in his throat. "Yeah, yes," he says. "You can move me around. Don't pull too hard."

"Got it," John says. He walks over to the side of the bed and sits down. "Would you like a pillow to kneel on?"

"Yeah," Mitch says, smiling a little. "Unless you're gonna be quick about it."

"Not unless that's what you're into," John says as he passes Mitch a pillow. "I did see the last scene in the video."

It makes Mitch blush, and he looks down as he arranges the pillow in front of John and settles onto it. "I told Naz we should've shot it again. I was just being a brat."

"Hey, no," John says firmly. "It was so good, Mitch. Seeing you like that, seeing you ask for it and enjoy it…"

"Yeah?" Mitch asks. Normally this would be the point where John would refuse to bite, but Mitch isn't fishing for compliments; he's fully present in the moment, but there's something vulnerable, something sweet and a little shy about the way he turns his face up towards John's, smiling softly. "I like all kinds of things. I like making other people feel good. But I also like when I don't have to think about what to do."

John reaches out and pushes his fingers lightly through Mitch's hair, then cups Mitch's head, rubbing gently at his scalp. "You don't have to worry about that," he says, hoping his voice isn't coming out as rough as it sounds. "Not tonight. All you ever have to do is ask, and I'll take care of you, okay?"

"Okay," Mitch murmurs. He leans his head back a little more, pressing it into John's hand, and he smiles, raising a hand and placing it gently over John's heart. He has to be able to feel how crazily it's beating, but he doesn't comment on it. "If I need you to stop while my mouth is full, that's what I'll do," he says. "I probably won't, but that's the signal."

"Got it," John replies. "Anything else?"

Mitch smiles happily, a little dreamily, as he returns his hand to his lap. "No."

"Unbutton my pants and pull the zipper down," John says, letting go of Mitch's head and putting his hand on his thigh. "You can use your hands for that."

Mitch nods, and he reaches up to deftly undo the button and carefully unzip John's pants. It's quick work, and Mitch puts his hands back in his lap when he's done, looking expectantly up at John. It's a lot, the trust that the calm expression on his face signals, and John takes a deep breath before spreading his knees and nodding a little. "Get me out. Use your hands for this, too, but then put them behind your back."

"Okay," Mitch says. His touch is light as he pulls John's pants out of the way, then pauses with his fingers against the waistband of John's boxers. "From the top or through the front?"

"Front," John decides, watching as Mitch moves his hand down, flicking the little buttons there open and reaching in. John's already half-hard, and Mitch lets out a tiny breath as he wraps his hand around John's dick and draws it out. He pats it appreciatitely once, then drops his hands behind his back, holding his left wrist in his right hand and leaning in a little. He looks up and grins at John with his face a few inches away from John's dick.

"What now?" he asks, something sparkling in his eyes.

John laughs a little and puts his hand back on Mitch's head. His fingers are wrapped up in Mitch's hair, firm but not too hard, and he rubs his thumb against Mitch's temple. "Now you blow me," he directs, and Mitch laughs a little before leaning in.

It's a bit of a mess; Mitch's hands don't move from behind his back, and that means that it's his mouth doing all the work. It takes him a moment to get his lips around John's dick, and this is far from the first time Mitch has blown him, but it's the first time Mitch goes down too far too quickly, and John pulls him back gently.

"Hey," he says, holding Mitch in place with just the tip in his mouth. "You've got nothing to prove here, okay? Don't force yourself before you're ready for it."

Mitch closes his eyes and breathes in and out through his nose once, twice, then nods the tiniest bit, so John loosens his grip and lets Mitch get back to it. He's more careful this time, starts moving slowly and in small increments, and by the time John closes his eyes and tilts his head back a little, Mitch is moving with more confidence.

"You're doing so well," John says, and he doesn't have to look down at Mitch to know that it hits home. There's a little stutter in the way he moves, a strangled little sound that John mostly notices because of the way it makes Mitch's mouth move around him, and then Mitch goes a little harder, a little deeper, a little faster.

It's worth looking, John knows, so he opens his eyes and looks back down. Mitch's eyes are still closed, and the look on his face isn't like any of the blowjobs he'd given in the video, not like the things they've done together before. It's relaxed, like Mitch isn't thinking about every single move so much as he's just waiting for more directions to follow, and it sends a hot pulse down John's spine when he realises it. He tightens his hand a little in Mitch's hair, and when Mitch snaps his eyes open to look up, John smiles at him.

"I'm gonna move," he says. He waits a moment, but Mitch doesn't unlink his hands, doesn't reach up and put his palm on John's chest, so John gives him another smile. "This is so good, Mitchy. You're so good to me, listening so well."

Mitch whines a little, so John slides his hips back before pushing slowly back forward. Mitch pushes his head into John's hand again, and John draws him in a little, pulling Mitch's face down on his cock and giving himself more space to thrust. It's easy to find a rhythm, for the gentle movements of John's hips to pick up speed and force, and to pull Mitch in a little more and still a little more, until Mitch is bent forward with his face in John's lap while John rocks into his mouth.

"Mitch," John groans out, and Mitch blinks up at him. His eyes are so, so blue, and there's no trace of concern to be found in them. John forces himself to slow down, to pull out of Mitch's mouth. "Good, good, you're so good."

"Thank you," Mitch says, voice rough but happy. "Can I—please? Please let me finish you off."

"I will, I will," John says, hoping his tone is soothing. "Are you hard, Mitchy?"

Somehow, that's what makes Mitch blush; his whole face goes red with it, up to the tips of his ears. "Yeah," he says.

"I'm glad," John says, and he doesn't think he could possibly be more honest in this moment. "Can you do two things at once for me?"

Mitch nods, and John lets go so he's free to move without risking getting his hair pulled. Mitch had said he didn't like it, after all, and John's absolutely going to respect that. "I can try, at least," Mitch adds. "Let me try."

"I'm sure you'll do so well," John says, and Mitch smiles even as his blush spreads. John shifts on the bed, sliding his legs a little farther apart. "I want you to get me off while you rub off on my leg," he says, gently nudging at Mitch's knee with his foot. "Do you think you can come that way?"

The noise Mitch makes at that is wild. "I don't know," he says. "I don't know, John, but I'll try, okay? I will."

There are a lot of things running through John's mind as Mitch repositions himself, kneeling with his knees on either side of John's leg. His jeans would be too rough for Mitch to rub up against bare, but John's hoping the soft cotton of Mitch's boxers will make it easy enough to be good for him. "You can use your hands to steady yourself if you need to," John says. "I don't want you to fall."

"Thank you," Mitch says, immediately bringing his hands up to rest on John's spread knees. "Can I—like this?"

"That's perfect," John says, smiling. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready," Mitch says. "Can I?"

John reaches down and gets a hand around his dick, stroking slowly a few times before holding himself steady. "Go ahead," he says, and Mitch gives him a brilliant smile before leaning back in.

It takes him a moment to figure out how to move; John knows he's asking a lot, for Mitch to coordinate his mouth and the movements of the rest of his body. Watching him figure it out is at least a little incredible, though, because Mitch is nothing if not determined, and he knows how to move his body to get what he wants. It isn't long before he's moving confidently on John's dick and grinding against his leg, and John threads his fingers through Mitch's hair and lets himself just enjoy it.

"God, Mitchy," he says, looking down. "You're so good, baby, so good for me. Look at you, doing just what I asked."

Mitch squeezes John's thighs, blinking up at him. His face is blotchy and his eyes are bright, and John wants to kiss him but he doesn't want to stop, to pull them out of this moment as Mitch takes a deep breath through his nose and sinks down, as his hips move so he's rubbing hard against John's leg. It's a lot to process, the sensations and the images and the swell of emotion John's feeling, so he closes his eyes and rides the feeling.

He gets close quicker than he usually does, but it's been a while since things have been intense in exactly this way, been just this good for him. "Hey, I'm close," he says, tugging lightly on Mitch's hair until he pulls off. "You don't have to—"

"Let me," Mitch says, and his voice is harsh, raw, as he looks up at John, something pleading in his voice. "Just—let me? Please, it'll be good, I can make it so good."

"If you want to," John says, sliding his hand out of Mitch's hair and down to cup his jaw. "You've already made it so good, baby, don't worry about that. If you want to keep going, you can, okay?"

"Thank you," Mitch says, voice almost breathless, and then he's leaning in, bobbing his head a few times before sinking all the way down without stopping the movement of his hips. He swallows around John over and over, and John feels his breath shudder out of him as he comes.

It's intense, rolling through him like it has no plans of stopping, and Mitch pulls back a little but keeps swallowing. He doesn't move until John pushes gently at his cheek, and then he pulls off completely, stilling his hips and dropping his head to John's thigh at the same time. His breathing is quick, little hitching breaths, but otherwise he isn't moving at all.

"Hey," John says, curling his hand around the back of Mitch's neck. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I'm good," Mitch says, and his voice is strained. "I just… I'm so close, but you didn't say I could come, and I don't want to without you saying so."

"Oh, Mitchy," John says, and there are so many different feelings swirling in his stomach, but he can deal with those later. "Come up here, baby, come on the bed with me. You did so good. I'll get you off."

Mitch makes a breathy little sound and scrambles up, none of his normal grace showing at all, and John makes quick work of stripping out of his clothes and laying down next to Mitch. He leans in to press their mouths together, quick and chaste, and then he runs his hand firmly down Mitch's chest, stopping at the hem of his boxers. "Hey," he says gently. "Can I touch you, baby? Is that okay?"

"Please," Mitch says, loud and clear, and John doesn't hesitate to reach in and get his hand around Mitch. He's hot and hard in John's hand, and he cries out when John starts to jerk him off. "Please, please—"

"You can come," John says, and Mitch yells and arches his back as he comes all over John's hand and the inside of his boxers.

"Good, so good," John murmurs, stroking Mitch through it and stopping when Mitch sighs and shudders a little. He pulls his hand out, wiping it on the hip of Mitch's boxers. "That was perfect. You did everything I asked so well, baby."

Mitch blinks up at him, smiling sweetly. "Thank you," he says, words coming out a little more slowly than usual. "I tried."

"You were perfect," John says firmly, cupping Mitch's hip in his hand. "Can I clean you up?"

"Please," Mitch says, still in an almost dreamy tone. "Can I sleep after that?"

John leans in to brush a kiss against Mitch's cheek, mostly because he can't help himself in the moment. "Of course," he promises, scooting back a little so he can pull Mitch's boxers off of him.

"You said you'd stay," Mitch says, smiling a little. "Are you still gonna?"

Mitch is a sight: naked in his bed, eyes bright and clear, looking up at John with a little bit of a question and a little bit of hesitation. There's pretty much no way that John would leave after a scene like that anyway, but Mitch asking him to stay, Mitch looking like the end of very nearly every fantasy John has had since he signed with Toronto…

"Of course," he says again, smiling down at Mitch. "Where else would I go?"

-0-

John gets invited out more and more as guys start getting back into town. It's easy to see how close the Leafs are; it's not surprising, because teams usually are, and adding the fact that it's Toronto to the mix would only knit them together tighter. John loves his hometown, and he's really looking forward to playing here, but he's not unaware of what the media can and will do if they think they smell blood in the water.

Still, though, it's nice to hang out with his new teammates, to begin to develop the kind of off-ice chemistry that he'd had back in Brooklyn. Mitch is there more than he isn't; John goes home with him more often than he doesn't. He refuses to read anything into it, not from his side and not from Mitch's. It's a new guy thing, he reasons to himself whenever he thinks about it for more than a second or two. Mitch is just being friendly.

Or, John thinks when Matthews finally gets into town, Mitch had been distracting himself until the people he missed most got back. It's easy to see how close the two of them are, and John thinks a little wryly that he'd be shocked to find out now that they weren't together, except he's seen Mitch sleep with almost every guy on the team at this point, and he's also seen how absolutely attached at the hip Matthews and Rielly are. It's an interesting dynamic, but somehow it never gets weird. John gives the credit to Mitch, who would probably bulldoze through any potential awkwardness with a smile and a come-on.

It might be a different kind of distraction, though. John doesn't need to know exactly what last year's locker room dynamic had been to know that this year's is off, and the Nylander-shaped hole in the room is as obvious as it is unacknowledged. John keeps his head down as much as he can; he knows exactly how much of the cap he's taking up here, and he knows the crunch that some of the other guys are going to feel because of it. There's no need for him to draw attention to any of it, not for the sake of the team and definitely not for his own sake.

"Hey," Mitch says, three games into the preseason. John looks up from his stall to see Mitch smiling down at him. "What's up?"

John shrugs one shoulder. "Thinking."

Mitch makes a face. "Ew, don't do that," he says, but his expression melts into a smile as John laughs. "Do you have plans tonight?"

"No," John says, shrugging a little. "Want to come to mine?"

It's not until surprise blooms across Mitch's face that John realises he's never offered before. Or, actually, Mitch has never asked; it's always Mitch's call, he reminds himself. If Mitch wanted to go somewhere that wasn't his own place, he'd ask for it.

"Sure, yeah," Mitch says as John is trying to figure out how to take his foot out of his own mouth. "That's… you're sure?"

John frowns a little. "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure."

"No, just," Mitch says. He laughs, and it's the first even remotely self-conscious thing John has heard out of him since he signed in Toronto. "Stuff mostly happens at my place because people aren't always… comfortable, I guess, with it touching the rest of their lives."

John opens his mouth and then clicks it shut; he's in the locker room, he reminds himself, and telling Mitch that the rest of the team is made up of shitty people probably won't go over too well. He's even pretty sure it isn't true. "Come to mine," he repeats, firmer this time. "You can touch all of my stuff if it makes you feel more comfortable there."

Mitch laughs, so bright it's startling, and John can't help but smile back. "I'll meet you there," he promises, and then he pats John on the shoulder and heads back to his own stall for his things.

John leaves pretty quickly after that, and Mitch must follow soon after; John's only in his apartment for about ten minutes before there's a knock on his door, and he opens it to find Mitch smiling at him. "Man, your building is nicer than mine."

John snorts and steps aside so Mitch can enter. "Sign your extension and upgrade," he suggests, then bites his tongue a little.

Mitch sighs, shoulders dropping a fraction. "Yeah," he says, shaking his head a little. "Apparently it's not that easy."

"Sorry," John says quietly. "Nylander, right?"

Mitch smiles a little and shrugs. "He's doing what he has to do, I guess," he says. "He'll sign when he signs. Or he won't, and then we'll deal with it."

"Sorry," John says again. "Not that I signed the contract that I did, but that it's making things difficult, I guess."

"That's not on you," Mitch says firmly, frowning a little. "Dubas made that call, and now we're all waiting to see if he can make good on his promise about getting me and Willy and Matty all signed. That's on him."

John musters up half a smile. "Still."

Mitch laughs a little, then pushes a hand through his hair. "Look, I know it's probably not what you had in mind, but can we just, like, chill on the sofa? Put on a dumb movie or something?"

"Are you a secret cuddler?" John asks, and this time his smile is fuller, more real. "You don't have to hide it from me."

"Who says I'm hiding it at all?" Mitch returns easily, grinning back. "I'm a not-at-all secret cuddler. Get on board."

John laughs. "I can do that."

They settle easily onto the sofa; Mitch sprawls, and John's less surprised than he maybe could be about it. It's comfortable, John thinks as Mitch picks _The A-Team_ on Netflix and hits play. Mitch's head is in John's lap and he's taking up most of the sofa, but John just pushes his fingers through Mitch's hair and lets himself relax.

Mitch sighs when the credits start to roll. "Good movie," he says, sounding way more relaxed than he had earlier. "Or, like. Enjoyable movie, I guess. I don't think it counts as actually good."

"Fun to watch," John suggests.

"That one," Mitch says. He pushes himself up off the sofa, and John doesn't think about missing the warmth of him in his lap even a little bit. "So, switching gears. I know I said tonight was for cuddles, but…"

"I can do tonight," John says quickly, standing. "If you changed your mind."

Mitch smiles and walks towards the hallway. "Oh, good."

The good thing about sleeping with someone kind of regularly, John knows, is that he and Mitch are already familiar enough with each other to know more than just the basics about what they each like. It means that John knows he can start by crowding Mitch against his bedroom wall, because Mitch will arch into it and kiss right back; it means that he has a pretty good idea about what will happen when he steps back and softly tells Mitch to take his clothing off.

Sure enough, Mitch smiles at him at starts following directions, pulling his clothes off and dropping them where he stands. He stands where he is when he's done, eyes following John as he pulls his own clothing off piece by piece.

"Bed," John says when they're both naked. "Right in the middle, on your back."

"Okay," Mitch says easily. He moves quickly but with grace until he hits the bed, where he pretty much just flops down and rolls into the middle. He's smiling when he settles there, and he shrugs a little at John. "There's only so good anyone can make getting to the middle of a bed."

John laughs. "You're not wrong," he agrees, sitting on the bed. "Do you want to know what my plans are, or would you rather find out as we go?"

Mitch shrugs a little. "Are you thinking about anything unusual?"

"Not from my point of view," John says, "but we haven't exactly talked about our full histories here. I don't know what you'd consider unusual."

"True," Mitch says. "I'm gonna go with your judgment on this one and say just go for it. I'll safeword if I need to."

"Okay," John says as he lays down beside Mitch. "Then I'm going to kiss you some more, and we'll see how it goes from there."

It's easy to get lost in kissing, John has found. There's a rhythm to it, a push and pull that would be hard not to follow, and John has to make sure he focuses to keep himself from just falling into it. Mitch is as into it as he always is, and he lets out a breathy little moan when John moves closer and pushes a hand into his hair so he can tilt Mitch's head exactly the way he wants it.

John isn't timing things but he pulls back after a while, mostly so he can look at Mitch. He looks good like this, spread out in John's bed and face flushed from making out, and John leans in to kiss him quickly before leaning back. "I want to blow you," he says. "But I want you to stay where I put you, and I want you to try not to come."

Mitch sucks in a sharp breath, and from this close, it's easy to see his eyes go a little dark. "Yeah," he agrees. "I can—I can do that. I can be good."

"I know you can," John says, smiling. "Lay back for me, okay?"

"Yeah," Mitch says again, rolling onto his back. He glances at John, then puts his hands above his head. "Like this? Not touching you?"

"Like that," John agrees, swallowing hard. "Lace your fingers together, just to remind yourself."

Mitch smiles sweetly and does it. "I don't need the reminder," he says. "Just so you know."

"Maybe I just like it, then," John says, moving down the bed. "Spread your legs. I want to lay down."

Mitch does, and John moves so he's laying between them. Mitch is hard, but he's not making any kind of movement, not reaching for himself or trying to goad John into doing anything. It's not like John had expected him to push back a lot, but he still has to take a steadying breath. It's a lot of trust, and he never takes it lightly.

It's not an exaggeration to say that John has sucked a lot of dick in his life. He's bi, he's pretty sure, but he's around a lot more guys than he is women, and he's the kind of person who likes something regular instead of finding new people to hook up with all the time. It means that he knows how to make it good, though; he doesn't start out gentle, and Mitch gasps when John sinks steadily down on him. Mitch doesn't move at all, though, not even a slight twitch of his hips, and John swallows gently just to see, but Mitch groans loudly and stays right where John put him.

He pulls back. "You can talk," he says. "Not if you're not comfortable making noise, but I like hearing it if you're into that."

"Oh, good," Mitch says. "Believe me, I can absolutely run my mouth in bed."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not surprised to hear that," John says dryly, and Mitch laughs as John gets back to work.

It's an easy thing to fall into, the rhythm he sets, the way his hands frame Mitch's hips, the words spilling from Mitch's lips as John works him over. Mitch stays still, doesn't twitch at all, even though it's easy to see the strain it's causing him to hold back. It's really something to behold, John thinks, the tension in Mitch's abs as he breathes in, the shuddering way he breathes out and how it makes his chest move-move-move. It's an incredibly powerful feeling, Mitch keeping still because John asked him to, and John knows full well just how much trust Mitch must have in him, to let him do this.

"Gonna," Mitch says, and John pulls up slowly. "Please, gonna—I don't want to—"

"Okay, okay," John says soothingly as he pulls off entirely. "How are you doing?"

Mitch is breathing heavily, and his eyes are closed. "Good," he says. "I'm good, I just… you said not to come. Thank you for stopping."

His voice is a little syrupy, a little rhythmic, and John turns his head to press a kiss to the inside of Mitch's thigh. "You're doing so well," he says, low like a promise, and Mitch inhales a little sharply. "Can you keep going? It's okay if you can't."

"I," Mitch says, swallowing. "I can keep going. I can."

"Okay," John says agreeably, pushing up to his knees. "Hey, Mitchy, can you open your eyes for me?"

"Oh," Mitch says, blinking his eyes open. "I—sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," John says, smiling. Mitch's pupils are wide and dark, and he's the prettiest picture John has seen in a really, really long time, spread out beneath him on the bed. He holds a hand out. "Can you give me your right hand?"

Mitch blinks again, but he doesn't ask, just raises his hand and reaches for John's. John smiles at him as he takes it, rubbing gently at his palm, working his way down each finger with the kind of ease born of practice. Mitch just watches him, a faint smile on his face, and when John lays his hand above his head and reaches for the other one, he gets to see a full smile bloom across Mitch's face as he sits back.

"What?" John asks, smiling back at Mitch as he works on Mitch's left hand.

Mitch laughs a little. "It's—I'm not used to it."

"To what?" John asks.

Mitch is quiet for a moment, and when he shrugs, there's a rueful smile on his face. "Being taken care of like this, I guess."

John opens his mouth, but closes it again before anything can spill out before he thinks it through. His mind is racing, but it's probably a conversation for later, so John carefully finishes up and puts Mitch's left hand back against the bed. He leans in the rest of the way for a kiss, and Mitch tilts his head back for it. It's a little amazing how quickly the urgency has gone out of the room, John thinks as he kisses Mitch, slow and deep and sure. It's not like John isn't going to make sure they both get off here, but his plans are shifting a little, realigning so they make more sense in context.

"Hey," he says, pulling back a few minutes later, or maybe a few hours. Mitch blinks up at him, close enough that the splay of his lashes against his cheek is easy to see. "You okay if I change the play here?"

"Sure," Mitch says. "What are you thinking?"

"I get the lube so it's not so dry and we rub off on each other," John says. "That way I don't have to stop making out with you for us to get off."

Mitch laughs a little. "Can I touch?"

"Absolutely," John says, smiling down at him. "I'm actually gonna encourage that."

"Oh, good," Mitch says. He rolls his shoulder a little bit, then raises a hand and lays it gently on the back of John's neck, pulling him in for another kiss. "I promise to show you how good I am at staying still some other time."

"Mitch," John says. "You did perfectly. You're incredible."

Mitch flushes, a small, pleased smile on his lips. "I can be better."

"You don't have to," John says. He kisses Mitch again, short and sweet, then rolls away to find the lube that he really should have remembered to set on the bedstand before they got started. "You did exactly what I asked. Why would I ask you to do any better than that?"

Mitch is sort of staring when John finds the lube in the bottom back corner of the drawer, because of course that's where it is. "You," Mitch starts, then shakes his head.

"What?" John asks, frowning a little. He glances at the lube, then back to Mitch. "We don't have to do anything if you're not into it anymore. It's totally fine if you want to go back to watching movies or whatever—"

Mitch laughs a little. "Definitely not that," he says. "Let's get off. Then we should sleep, I think, and then tomorrow maybe we can talk?"

"Okay," John says, rolling back in. "If you're sure."

Mitch smiles at him, and there's definitely something sweet in it. "I'm sure."

-0-

John is up before Mitch in the morning, which is a little surprising, given how much of a morning person he isn't It's not long before Mitch appears in the kitchen, though, smiling as John carefully pours himself a cup of coffee. "Hey, careful," he says, voice teasing even though it's early-morning deep. "Don't burn yourself."

"I'm not that bad," John says, putting the carafe back into the coffeemaker and walking towards the table. "I know for a fact you aren't sleeping with the Strome who would know any embarrassing pre-coffee stories about me, too, so don't even try."

Mitch laughs. "Since when are Stromes quiet or secretive?" he asks, passing John and getting a mug from the cabinet. He doesn't hesitate at all to open the silverware drawer and get a knife to stir his coffee, and he levels a look at John just as John is about to open his mouth and chirp him about his aversion to stirring with a spoon. It's a routine, John knows, and one that maybe might be indicating... something. Even if it's something they usually do in Mitch's kitchen, it's familiar, well-worn.

It's not nothing. He's sure enough of that.

"So, uh," Mitch says as he's stirring his creamer into his coffee. It's the stuff that John only picked up because Mitch keeps it in his own kitchen, and it's not like John has been actively planning on inviting him back here, but apparently his subconscious had. It's too sweet for John, too milky, but there's been a bottle in the door for a week now. "Last night didn't go exactly as planned."

"It didn't," John agrees. He doesn't want to lead Mitch to an answer or a topic, so he just takes a sip of his coffee.

"I'm not mad about it," Mitch says, bringing his mug to the table and sitting across from John. "I just kind of wasn't expecting it, I guess."

John hums a little. "I kind of figured that out," he says. "Uh. Not to be tactless about it or anything, but... you seemed pretty surprised."

"I was," Mitch says. "And, again, not complaining here, but usually when something starts out with me following directions, it ends with me begging to be allowed to come." He flashes John a smile. "While still following directions. Like last time."

"Maybe I misread things," John says, shrugging a little. "It kind of felt like going back to that would've been forcing it at that point, though. Not that I wouldn't have been into it, and I'm guessing you would've too, but it's not what I was feeling right then, you know?"

"No, I get it," Mitch says, frowning a little. "I guess I... why'd you do it? The hands thing." He's rubbing his thumb against his index finger a little absently as he looks at John.

John shrugs again. "Holding still for that long can get uncomfortable," he offers. "I didn't want your hands to cramp."

"Okay, but," Mitch says, breathing out a little harshly. "I don't _get_ it."

John blinks at him. "Get it," he says cautiously. "Get what?"

"Why you're so..." Mitch says, trailing off. He sighs loudly. "Look. The way it usually goes is I get someone to come home with me, we do whatever we're going to do, and then the next day I pick someone different. This is... this isn't how it goes. It's not me picking the same person over and over again, and it's not things changing halfway through, and it's not me not knowing what the hell is going on."

"Okay," John says, trying to keep his voice level. Still, he hesitates a little before continuing. "So it's a problem that you keep picking me?"

"Yes," Mitch says, pushing a hand into his hair. "No. I don't know."

"Okay," John says again. He looks down at his coffee and firmly tells his stomach that it has no right to be tied in knots right now. He'd gone into this with his eyes open, and just because Mitch is the first, best thing that happened to him in Toronto doesn't mean he's all that John has to hold onto here. He tries to make sense of the thoughts racing through his mind, but it's hard to pick out what he wants to say. Finally, though, he clears his throat. "If you want to dial it back, I get it."

Mitch snaps his gaze up. "You do?" he asks. He doesn't sound relieved. John isn't sure what his tone of voice means, but it's not relief. "So it's..."

"Mitchy," John says, and he can hear the emotion in his voice breaking through even though he's trying to keep a lid on it. "Give me something to work with here. Do you want space? Do you want to keep coming home with me?" He takes a deep breath in and lets it back out. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be offering here."

"Neither am I," Mitch says, and now his voice is oddly blank. "How about you tell me what you want here, and we can go from there?"

"What I..." John says. This conversation has gotten away from him so quickly, and he doesn't know how to get it back on track, or even what track would be the right one now. "I don't know, Mitch. I don't think I know what you're asking me here."

"Okay," Mitch says. He looks down at his cup and laughs a little, but if doesn't sound amused. "Okay. I don't think I even know what I'm asking you for, so I don't know how you would have any idea. Sorry."

"Are you okay?" John asks. "Is... I know you said last night was okay, and I'm not second-guessing you on that at all. Is there something else bothering you?"

"No," Mitch says slowly, like he's trying to evaluate whether or not that's the truth. "I'm okay." He's still looking at his coffee, which is why it's startling to suddenly be meeting his gaze as he looks up. "I think I'm gonna... go."

"Right now?" John asks, somehow caught off guard. "We could talk more, if that would help. I can make breakfast." He hasn't before, not for Mitch; they're always in his space, and it's not that John is suddenly realising why that is, but he does wonder if part of Mitch's discomfort is because this is part of what's different.

"No, I," Mitch says, cutting himself off and shaking his head. He takes a long sip of his coffee, then stands up and walks to the sink so he can pour the rest of it out. "I'm just gonna get dressed and go. I'll... I'll text you later, okay?"

"Okay," John says, watching as Mitch disappears back into the bedroom. He reappears in record time, fully dressed, and nods at John before walking out the door without another word.

John stares at his coffee for a moment, wondering how, exactly, he'd fucked up.

-0-

It's not like John doesn't have things to do; it's an off day and it's still preseason, but there's always tape he can review, plays he can go over, exercise he could fit in. Hell, he could do his laundry, but instead he sits down on the sofa, turns on TSN, and stares blankly at the screen while a panel of baseball analysts argue with each other about the World Series. He tries not to jump every time his phone makes a sound, but it's not the calmest day he's had, all told.

Mitch doesn't text.

John takes a deep breath when noon comes and goes with no word from Mitch. He'll go get some groceries, he decides. There's some stuff he needs to pick up anyway, and it's not like he's any kind of chef, but he can put the time in to make something kind of nice for himself tonight. He stands up and stretches, grabbing the clicker to turn the television off, and of course that's when his phone rings.

It's not Mitch, though, John realises as he glances at the screen. It's not a call he was expecting to get at all by this point, actually, but he sits back down and answers it anyway. "Hello?"

"Hey, Johnny," Anders says, and there's something cautious in his voice. It says a lot that John can hear it in just two words, but that's what being on a team with a guy for the better part of six years will do.

"Hey," John says. He's not sure what his own voice sounds like; he's been accused of being kind of monotone before, sure, but he likes to think he isn't when it's away from cameras and mics. It's possible that he's coming across kind of flat now, but he's not going to push himself, not yet. "How's the Island?"

Anders sighs. "I'm a dick," he says bluntly. "And I'm pretty sure some of the other guys were just following my lead, which means everyone here has been a dick to you since July."

John lets out a breath. "I mean," he says, but he knows it's a little weak.

"Nope," Anders says, saving John from having to come up with a way to end that sentence. "I knew it was a possibility that you'd go somewhere else, and you had every right to. Hell, we all knew it. Just because we hoped you'd stay didn't mean you had to, and it sure as hell didn't give us the right to completely cut you off once you left."

John smiles a little. "Marty talked to you, huh."

"I might have also gotten an earful from Stromey," Anders admits. "And, uh. Once Barz realised he and Beau were the only ones who'd congratulated you after you signed, he might have made his feelings about the whole thing clear, too."

It makes John laugh, loud and surprised. "Yeah? He's a good kid."

"He is," Anders says, and John can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm just keeping the captain's seat warm for him. I knew it when they gave it to me, but it was a definite wakeup call to have him dress me down in front of all the As."

"He didn't," John says, rolling his eyes a little, because of _course_ he did. "I didn't put him up to that. I'm—"

"Don't apologise to me," Anders says, something finite in his voice. "That's what I'm calling you to do, and Barz wasn't wrong. I told him that, and I'm telling you that, too. I'm sorry I let my pride or whatever get in the way of us being friends, and of me being genuinely happy for you. I am, y'know? And by the time I realised how much of a dick I was being, it was easier to just... keep being a dick, I guess, because we all know how easy it is to say you're sorry to someone."

"Thanks," John says. There's an odd lump in his throat, and he has to swallow a few times to get it to disappear. "It was... it felt like the right thing at the right time for me. It's not like I was looking for an escape from New York. You guys meant a ton to me. Still do."

"We all know that," Anders says firmly. "And I'm sorry for not reaching out sooner, but I'm extra sorry for letting the rest of the guys think it was okay to follow my lead. I know if I made that choice..."

"We would have supported you," John says softly. He knows it probably isn't nice, confirming what Anders is saying, but he figures he's allowed a little hurt here. Better to let it out than keep it to himself, a little kernel of truth that they might keep tripping over as they build their friendship back up. "Like we did with Marty."

"Exactly like we did with Marty," Anders says. "He was pretty pointed in reminding us about that fact, actually."

"He's good people," John murmurs, smiling a little. "Always has been."

Anders laughs a little. "He reminded us about that, too," he says, voice lighter. "Anyway, let me say it again, because I feel like I should probably say it at least half a dozen more times. I know you're not going to let me, but I want to get it out at least once more." He pauses, but John keeps quiet; he knows how Anders works, what atonement looks like on him, and he's honestly ready to put this whole thing to bed. "I'm sorry," Anders says after a moment.

"Thanks," John says. "I'm not gonna say it was okay, but.. thanks."

"I want to keep being friends," Anders adds, "but I get if you want to, like, not talk for a while or something like that."

John smiles faintly, looking at the blank television screen across the room. "I think I've spent long enough not talking to you and the rest of the guys," he says. "Just don't ask me to go easy on you when we play you this year and we can move on from here."

That makes Anders laugh again, loud and at least a little relieved. "Wouldn't dream of it," he says, voice full of confidence. "You might not be here anymore, but I think we still have a fighting chance. I want to beat you at your best, Johnny, not because you were pulling your punches."

"Good thing I don't fight, then," John says, feeling something lighten and set free in his chest. "Marty would kick my ass, and that might make both of us cry."

"Probably," Anders says. "Hey, uh. Thanks for picking up the phone. I was prepared for you to not, and I definitely had no idea what sort of message I was going to leave, but I can guarantee that it would have been ugly."

"I'm glad I didn't put either one of us through that," John says. "I'm ready to just be friends again, Anders. I don't want to hold a grudge over this."

"I'm glad," Anders says, and he really does sound it. "Sorry again, though."

John laughs. "Okay, quit that."

"Good luck," Anders says cheerily. "On the getting me to stop thing. I don't think your team needs luck, not with the guys you're playing with."

It's on the tip of John's tongue to say that Anders doesn't need luck either; he believes it, too, but he knows how it'll come off, so he holds it back. "I guess we'll see in December."

"I guess we will," Anders replies. "Hey, I should get going, Johnny, but we'll talk, okay? I promise."

"We'll talk," John confirms, smiling. "Thanks for calling."

He hangs up in a significantly better mood than he thought he'd be in today.

-0-

The invite to go out comes from Naz. It's not like Mitch is always the one to coordinate team things, but it still feels a little off to John as he confirms the time and place and goes to get ready. Phone call from Anders notwithstanding, today has been a little weird, a little unsettled, and John's definitely not feeling on top of his game as he heads downtown to meet up with the guys.

The place is half-restaurant, half-bar, and most of the team is crowded into the restaurant part when John walks in. He has no doubt that this place was chosen specifically for spillover purposes, but he's happy to sit down and have a meal with the guys first. Eating with teammates and drinking with teammates are two completely different experiences, and he enjoys them both, but it's nice to have a little more of a balance sometimes.

John kind of thought he was the last one to arrive, but a few minutes after he sits down, Ennis nudges his side. "He'll want to sit by you," he says, jerking his head away from the table, and John looks up to see Mitch walking in.

"Oh," John says, a little startled. He purposely hadn't looked for Mitch when he'd come in; clearly Mitch had wanted space, if his lack of contact today had been any indication, and John's not the kind of person to push him on it. "Actually, I'm not—"

"Hey," Mitch says, his voice low and warm and friendly as he stops next to John. "Push over?"

"Uh," John says. Ennis snicks and elbows John again, harder this time, before scooting in more.

Mitch's expression falls a little. "I can go sit with—"

"No," John says hurriedly, sliding in next to Ennis. "Sit."

"Seriously," Mitch says, glancing away. "I can find Hyms or Kappy."

John reaches out and grabs Mitch's wrist before he can think better of it, and Mitch's gaze snaps straight back to him. "Sit," John says again, quieter this time. "I'd… I'd like that."

Apparently it's the right thing to say, because Mitch's face softens and he nods, tugging his hand out of John's grasp before sitting down next to him. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I said I'd text, but…"

"It's okay," John replies, just as quietly. "It's… you don't owe me anything. Okay?"

Mitch sighs a little, but he nods after a moment. He snags a menu from the middle of the table, and John turns back to his own, more because he doesn't want to get caught staring than because he hasn't already picked out what he wants to eat.

Dinner is surprising in a lot of ways; John spends most of it talking to Ennis and Dermott, which is only weird because he hasn't really talked much to either of them yet, and Mitch spends most of it casually pressed into John's side like he hadn't walked out of his apartment this morning after the tensest non-fight John's ever been part of. Nobody else at the table seems to think anything at all is out of place, and John would think that Mitch was just doing it so nobody guessed anything was off, but Mitch isn't the type of guy who would do that. John can only figure that whatever Mitch was freaked out by earlier has passed, and they'll get back to whatever passes for normal soon.

He doesn't startle when Mitch rests his palm on his thigh, right above his knee; it's a grounding touch in a lot of ways, but it's also incredibly intimate for a public space. There's a little bit of emotional whiplash going on, but John's doing his best to roll with it. The longer the meal drags on, the more he wants to grab Mitch and get him somewhere private just so they can talk about whatever's going on, but that's for later. Now is for team bonding, which is still really important this early in the season. A lot of the guys here right now will be sent back to the Marlies before the season starts for real, but some of them are going to stick with the team, and injury call-ups are always a thing. Making sure they all get comfortable with each other now is important, so John tells himself that they'll talk later, and he asks Dermott more about his decision to not play in the Calder Cup final game.

Mitch, for his part, is talking animatedly with Leivo, something about a Disney movie that John's heard about in passing but hasn't seen. It's close enough that he picks up on it, but not relevant to his interests enough for him to be paying much attention; at least, that's true until Mitch leans across the table and says, loud enough for their table to hear if not loud enough to carry, "Bet you a blowjob you're remembering wrong."

John forces himself not to react. Dermott definitely doesn't; he snorts and turns to them. "Take it," he advises Leivo. "If you win, he sucks your dick because you won, and if you lose, he sucks your dick because _he_ won. There's no losing here, unless you're actually wrong, and then it's just a pride thing."

Mitch laughs and shrugs a little, his hand still warm on John's leg. "I mean, he's not wrong. _You_ are, because that is _not_ how the movie ends, but I'm pretty much offering to blow you either way."

"I mean, if you're offering," Leivo says. His smile is wide and inviting, the kind of thing that promises something easy, and John doesn't react, doesn't flinch, when Mitch laughs and squeezes John's thigh firmly before sliding out of the booth.

"Movie first," Mitch announces. "I want to show you how wrong you are, and then console you after."

"Netflix and chill hasn't lost its charm, I promise," Leivo says, standing as well.

"It has," Auston calls from the booth behind theirs. "Mitchy's just lame."

"Sure, sure," Mitch says, laughing as he throws a few bills on the table. "Didn't hear you complaining at all last season."

"You're lame, but you're good at blowjobs," Auston says, shrugging and grinning unrepentantly. "I'm smart enough to know which battles to pick."

"Apparently not," Mitch says, leaning over to mess up Auston's hair. "See if I blow you any time soon."

Auston just waggles his eyebrows, and Mitch laughs again. He's still laughing when he makes eye contact with John, but it fades, and they're left just looking at each other for a moment before Mitch nods, a small, barely-there thing.

"Okay," he says, voice light as he turns to Leivo. "Let's go. Meet me at mine."

"Prepare to be wrong," Leivo says confidently as he walks for the exit.

Mitch laughs again and glances at John before turning to follow him out the door, and John's left completely bewildered by Mitch's exit for the second time in the same day.

-0-

It's somewhat of an effort on John's part, but he manages to have a good time with the guys. The rest of dinner is nice, with Mo and Gards wandering over to aggressively chirp Dermott about his lack of facial hair. Ennis laughingly sticks on Dermott's side, and it's fun, light, causal in the way that teams usually are. John knows how to do team things, even knows how to enjoy them, so he makes himself join Dermott in ragging on Mo's attempt at a beard and isn't altogether shocked to find himself having a good time.

The team does spill over into the bar, like John figured they would, and he grabs a beer and volunteers to hold down a table in the back. It's fine, it really is, but when Naz gives him a too-knowing look and offers to sit for a while, John takes the opportunity as gracefully as he can. "I might head out, actually," he says, and Naz nods.

"Kinda figured," he says. "Look, take a day or two, then call me, okay? You're not the first one to feel like you're in too deep."

John gives him a rueful half smile. "That obvious?"

Naz laughs. "Probably only to me, if that makes you feel any better."

"A little," John admits. "Thanks, Naz."

"Go get some sleep," Naz says. "And I'm serious about calling me. I can't make it better, but I can listen to whatever you have to say."

"When did you get all wise and shit?" John asks, shaking his head. "This isn't the Kadri I know."

"I still don't know what 'complacency' means, if it makes you feel any better,' Naz says cheerily, and John's still laughing about it as he leaves the bar.

The good thing about being home is that home's comfortable, John thinks as he walks into his apartment. He steps out of his shoes and puts his keys in their bowl near the door, then walks down the hall and into his bedroom. It's definitely time for sweatpants and a tee shirt, and maybe seeing if he can find something not hockey related on his DVR.

He's just finished changing when he hears someone knock at his door. He frowns a little; it's late enough that someone dropping by is weird, and none of the guys texted him, anyway. It's probably a neighbour, he surmises as he heads for the door. He has no idea what a neighbour could possibly want after ten at night, but as long as it's not an autograph, John can be gracious about it.

He looks through the peephole on the door as the person on the other side knocks again, and—

"Mitch," he says, pulling the door open. "Hey, uh. I didn't expect to see you tonight."

Mitch gives him an almost wooden smile. "Yeah. Can I… can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course," John says, stepping back as his heartbeat picks up a little. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," Mitch says as he walks in. "It wasn't bad, okay? Whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it."

John nods even though Mitch has passed him, facing the wall as he kicks his own shoes off. He lets out a sigh as John closes and locks the door, and it's not like John's never felt awkward in his life—it's a feeling he's all too familiar with, unfortunately—but he has no idea what to do with his hands, or his feet, or his mouth. "Uh," he manages. "Do you want a drink? I have decaf."

Mitch laughs a little and turns, and there's something a little wry in his expression. "Yeah, sure," he says. "That sounds good."

John just nods again and walks into the kitchen. Making coffee is something he can do while pretty much dead asleep on his feet in the mornings; it's easy to do it now, too, even though he can't stop wondering why the hell Mitch is here. It seems like a week ago that Mitch had given him a blank-eyed stare and walked out, but it hasn't even been a day.

"So I left with Leivs because I felt weird about leaving with you," Mitch finally says. "We went back to my place, we watched the movie, I sucked his dick, he left. Like it usually goes."

"And now you're here," John says. "Not that I'm upset about it, but... why?"

Mitch takes a sip of his coffee, but the look on his face is open, considering. It's a marked change from this morning, even if they're in the same room doing the same thing. "Because Leivs left, and usually when that happens, I want to shower and relax and then go to bed. But he walked out the door, and I turned the shower on and brushed my teeth, and then I turned the shower off without getting in and got in my car and came here, because I wanted to be with you."

"You did," John says slowly, turning the words over and over in his head.

"I did," Mitch confirms. "Which I know is, like, totally opposite from what I said and did this morning, but I spent a while thinking this afternoon."

"About me," John says, something like cautious hope blooming in his stomach.

"About you," Mitch confirms. "And about me, and what I want, and how things don't have to stay the same to be good."

"They don't," John agrees. He's trying to tell the feelings trying to erupt out of him to chill for about ten seconds, but it's hard to make his heart listen to his brain. "Change can be good."

Mitch gives him a crooked smile. "I mean, you signed here, so I guess you'd know," he says. "Also, Stromer said the same thing, so take that as you will."

John laughs, a little surprised. "It kind of figures that we both have Stromes as sounding boards."

"They're good at it, though," Mitch says. "Never tell Dylan I said that."

"Never tell Ryan I agree with you," John replies. "I'm pretty sure they already know, though."

"Probably," Mitch says, smiling at him. "Anyway. This morning I was freaking out because I wanted to spend time with you, and this afternoon Dylan hit me with a clue-by-four, and now it's night and I'm here, spending time with you."

"And this time," John says. "It's a thing you want to keep happening?"

"It is, I think," Mitch confirms. "But I meant what I said when we first met. I don't do monogamy. I'm bad at it and it makes me miserable, so if that's something you want, I get it, but I'm gonna... stop wanting us to happen. Somehow."

"I wouldn't," John says. It's quick, but it's honest. "You have your thing with the team, and with your people over the summer. Change doesn't have to mean a complete and total 180 from what you were doing before, either."

Mitch laughs a little. "I have no idea how this is going to work. I have no idea _if_ this is going to work, but I actually want to try. Is that crazy?"

"What's crazy," John says, finally letting the hope in his chest put a smile on his face, "is that you're all the way over there and I'm all the way over here, so I can't kiss you right this second."

"Well, hey," Mitch says, standing and walking towards John, smiling right back at him. "Look at all this change we're starting tonight."

-0-

John wakes up before Mitch again in the morning. It's a little less shocking today; they'd been up late, talking and then decidedly not talking, and John's pretty sure Mitch will want to sleep it off for a little while longer. He's loose, relaxed, and completely happy to just stay curled up in his blankets with Mitch until they actually have to get up.

"I can feel you watching me," Mitch says a few minutes later. His eyes are still shut. "How can you manage to be loud at watching someone?"

"Natural talent and a lot of practice on top of that," John deadpans.

Mitch smiles and opens his eyes. "Somehow I believe it."

John smiles back. "Sleep okay?"

"I slept great," Mitch says, rolling onto his back. He pushes the blankets down to his waist and stretches, and it's not like John hadn't seen and marked up all that skin last night, but he's definitely feeling the need to get his mouth on Mitch again now.

Mitch laughs softly, and when John brings his gaze back up, Mitch shakes his head a little, fond. "I need calories before we go again," he says. "Even I have limits."

"I'll make breakfast," John offers. There's so much of this morning that's reminding him of yesterday, but there's even more to prove to him that things are going differently today. Mitch's growing smile is only one of those things, but it's an important one. "I can do eggs, and I'm pretty sure there's bacon in the freezer."

"And coffee," Mitch says. "Thanks for getting my creamer, by the way. I don't know if I managed to say that yesterday."

"I've got an idea," John suggests. "I'll let yesterday morning go if you do."

"I'll take that deal," Mitch says. He smiles at John for a moment. "I'm super serious about the calories, though."

John laughs and pushes the blankets off, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Mitch wolf-whistles as John stands and walks to the dresser, and all John can do is laugh and shake his head as he pulls on clean boxers and heads for the kitchen.

This time when Mitch comes in, he's wearing an Isles tee and a pair of John's boxers. It's a clear statement, and John knows it's being made really purposefully, but it's nice to see that Mitch isn't going to bolt again. He wanders up beside John and presses a kiss to his shoulder before pouring himself a mug of coffee, and then he leans back against the counter to watch John cook.

"So how was your day yesterday?" Mitch asks after a moment, and John startles a little. "Other than the morning we're gonna forget about."

"It was decent, actually," John says. "I heard from Anders."

"Oh, already?" Mitch says, wry twist to his lips. "Did he grovel? He better have grovelled."

"He tried to," John says, smiling a little. "I'm only going to let him for so long, though."

"A little while longer," Mitch bargains. "Pretend to hold a grudge, c'mon."

"I don't think I can," John replies. "Besides, Marty already dressed him down, and apparently so did Barz."

"Good," Mitch says approvingly. "Barz is a good guy. I'm glad at least one person on that team wasn't a dick to you, although how _Mat Barzal_ had more manners than an actual goddamned adult is a mystery to me."

It makes John laugh. "He's gonna be great there," he says, and it's not the first time he's said it and believed it, but it _is_ the first time there hasn't been something like hurt buried underneath it. More change, he thinks to himself, but he's learning that all sorts of changes can be good ones. Great, even.

"He is," Mitch says confidently. "Although not great enough to beat us when we play them. We need to wipe the entire floor with them, John."

"Oh, we will," John replies. "No way am I giving them that game. I'll win it myself if I have to."

"Solid mindset," Mitch says, "but you definitely won't have to. We're all gonna win it for you."

Change, John thinks, is things happening around you; some of it you can control, sure, but a lot of it you can't. John started this whole thing with a signature on a piece of paper in July, and it's set so much other stuff into motion, stuff that he could never have predicted at the start of all of this. Change is being a Leaf, sure, but it's also Anders forgiving him for it. It's not being an Islander anymore, but instead having Naz watching his back again. It's being so far from the home he'd built in New York, but it's also being right back home, in an apartment bright with early-morning sun and brighter still with Mitch's smile over the lip of a coffee mug with I <3 NY on the side.

And all John can think as he sets his spatula down and turns towards Mitch is, _change is good._

**Author's Note:**

> -me: i'm gonna write a whole bunch of smut with barely any plot to hold it together!  
> my brain: oh, you sweet summer child.  
> me: how did this grow TWO plots??  
> my brain: the real question is, how did you not see this coming??
> 
> -this is my 300th fic on AO3, y'all. of course it is. it is also the first fic i have ever AO3-locked. /jazz hands
> 
> -my deepest apologies to anders lee, who is probably not as much of a dick as i made him out to be in this fic. sorry, bud, but someone had to be the bad guy.
> 
> -follow me on twitter for occasional writing rambles, but largely me yelling "MVP" every time nathan mackinnon scores a goal. (DM me to let me know who you are, though!)


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